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BY 



FRANCES McMINDS 






Copyrighted December, 1913 

by 

PRANCES McMINDS 



Published for the Author 

by 

SMITH & LAMAR 

Dallas, Texas 



©CI.A3620;>1 




N presenting this volume it is 
the hope of the author that this 
collection of poems, written, 
many of them, for special oc- 
casions, holidays and anniver- 
saries; many suggested by the sayings and 
doings of my dearly loved friends, the 
children; others prompted by local condi- 
tions and happenings common to most 
communities, and still others written as an 
expression of my own sentiments, may 
prove acceptable "All the Year 'Round." 

If, "When Daddy Comes Home At 
Night," the litde ones gather about the fire- 
side and are made happy by the reading 
of "Childhood Poems and Christmas 
Verses; ' if "Jest Plain Folks" are amused 
by the would-be "Humorous and Dialect 
Verses;" if my "Poems of Sentiment" 
touch an answering chord within your 
hearts, or afTord inspiration or encourage- 
ment to any of my readers, the mission of 
this litde book will have been accom- 
plished. 




TO 

MY DAUGHTER 



"When at the last the story's told, 
May it turn out all right." 



*TLEASE MAKE IT TURN OUT RIGHT/' 



A little maid, with eyes of blue, 

And sunny, wind-tossed hair. 
Comes softly, when the day is thro* 

And climbs up in my chair. 
And coaxes for a fairy tale 

Before she says good-night; 
Then adds, nor e'er was known to fail : 

"Now, make it turn out right." 

And so I take her on my knee 

And wondrous things I tell — 
Her eager gaze inspiring me — 

Of dangers that befell 
The princess fair ere she was freed 

By noble, valiant knight; 
Then anxiously I hear her plead: 

"Make it turn out all right." 

As I the fearsome tale prolong. 

Revealing ugly gnomes. 
And goblins fierce, and giants strong 

TTiat haunt the maid who roams 
In deep, dark woods, with dungeons near. 

She murmurs in a fright. 
As close she nestles: "Daddy, dear. 

Please make it turn out right." 

TTien when at last the story ends 

As all good stories should: 
The hero bold and brave defends 

The princess sweet and good. 
And gallantly averts all harm 

With trusty sword so bright; 
My baby cooes, with kisses warm: 

"I'm glad it turned out right." 

Oh, little maid, with eyes of blue. 

And sunny, wind-tossed hair, 
God grant that life may hold for you 

Naught but the pure and fair; 
Yet should its perils dark enfold 

Your path in shades of night. 
When at the last the story's told. 

May it "turn out all right." 



Paffe 7 



WHEN DADDY COMES HOME AT NIGHT. 



My Daddy's just the bestest man 

In all this world, I'm sure; 
He has to work so hard all day 

To feed us, 'cause we're poor; 
But we have the house all cozy an' bright 
When Daddy comes home from his work at night. 

We watch for him at supper time. 

When all our chores are done. 
An' when we catch a glimpse of him 

You ought to see us run; 
An' then we just grab him an' hug him tight; 
When Daddy comes home from his work at night. 

In Daddy's shining dinner pail 

There's always something good; 
He never eats its every bit — 

If it v/as me, I would — 
We tug at that bucket with all our might 
When Daddy comes home from his work at night. 

Then Daddy always asks our Ma 

If we've been good that day. 
An' we all listen anxiously 

To hear what she will say; 
An' then we're so happy if we've done right. 
When Daddy comes home from his work at night. 

Our Daddy never scolds us kids 

Because we make a noise. 
But plays an' romps with us as if 

We all of us was boys. 
I tell you our hearts are full of delight 
When Daddy comes home from his work at night. 

I'll love my Daddy just the same 

When I'm a grown up man; 
An' then how glad I'll be to work 

An' help him all I can; 
For deep in my mem'ry will linger the sight — 
When Daddy comes home from his work at night. 



Paffe 8 



OUT TO GRAN'MA'S. 



When we go out to Gran'ma's place 
I tell you what, we sure have fun; 

No matter if we romp an' race. 
She tells us just to go an' run 

An' 'joy ourselves, an' make a noise. 

For Gran 'ma says: "Boys will be boys." 

When we go out to Gran'ma's, why. 
She fixes us good things to eat. 

Like cakes an' gingerbread an' pie 
An' doughnuts that just can't be beat; 

An' then she says to me an' Bill, 

"Now just sit down an' eat your fill." 

When we go out to Gran'ma's house 

She tells us tales of long ago. 
While we sit still as any mouse; 

That's when the evening comes, you know. 
With nuts to crack an' corn to pop — 
We just don't know when it's time to stop. 

When we go out to Gran'ma's place. 

Some time, when years have passed away. 

An' miss that gentle, loving face. 
An' think of all she used say, 

I know those tender mem'ries will 

Make better men of me an' Bill. 



Pase 9 



THE SMALL BOY'S SUMMER TIME. 



TTier' ain't no use a-talkin,' boys, 
'Bout winter time an' all its joys; 
With fires to build an' wood to cut 
An' all the doors an' winders shut; 
With northers swoopin' down on you, 
'At make you shiver thro' an' thro.' 

Give me the good ole summer time. 

When ev'ry day is warm an' fine; 

When you don't have no school nor chores; 

Jest laze aroun' an' stay out doors, 

An* sail yer boats an' fly yer kites 

An' play wald Injun games at nights. 

An' when you want to git right cool 
You go down to the creek 'er pool. 
An' splash aroun' 'ithout yer clo'es 
An' git the mud between yer toes — 
I don't know how it seems to you. 
But I like ketchin' craw-dads, too. 

An' don't it do a feller good 
To git to camp out in the woods? 
Why, summer's jest one happy dream 
Of picnics, watermel'ns, ice cream 
An' circuses! — Well, I should smile; 
It's got ole winter beat a mile. 



Pas© 10 



SLEEPY TIME. 



When it's gettin' 'long toward bedtime, 

An' the shadows 'gin to creep; 
When I'm 'ist a little tired. 

But don't want to go to sleep; 
Then I snuggle up to Daddy 

An' he takes me on his knee. 
An' I feel so nice an' comfy, 

While he rocks an' sings to me. 

My own Daddy's lap's the bestest 

Place to cuddle up an' rest. 
With his arm so close around me 

An' my head upon his breast; 
An' he tells me boo'ful stories 

'Bout when he was little, too. 
While I sit so still an' listen, 

'Cause I know they're always true. 

Then my mother comes in softly 

An' she says: "It's time for bed," 
An' I nestle down the closer. 

While I try to hide my head; 
But my Daddy laughs an' lifts me 

As he gets up from his chair — 
An' the place so warm an' cuddly 

In his lap, it isn't there! 

Then he says: "Go on with mother. 

For the sandman's somewhere near," 
An' I know I'm gettin' sleepy, 

'Cause my eyes feel kind of queer; 
So I say good-night, an' kiss him. 

An' I say my prayers — ^you see, 
'1st to tell the Lord I'm thankful 

'At my Daddy 'longs to me. 



Paff« 11 



THAT BAD TEACHER. 



Seems strange how unreas'nable school teachers is — 

Don't have no respect for a boy — 
It's hard to believe that they ever vv^as kids. 

Or else they'd know what we enjoy, 
An' not be a-makin' us hide things, or run. 
Just when we're beginnin' to have the most fun. 

They don't seem to think that we have any rights. 

An' as for our property, why. 
My teacher'll take any old thing that's in sight. 

No matter how hard I may try 
To keep it down under my desk or my book; 
Wherever it is, that's the place he will look. 

An' the worst of it is that he won't give 'em back! 

Why yesterday mornin' he seen 
A marble fall out of m.y desk thro' a crack. 

An', honest, that man was so mean 
He just took my alleys, my agate, an' all. 
An' kept 'em! Now, say, don't you think that was small? 

One mornin' last week, why, my big brother Joe 

Was just readin' "Daredevil Dick," 
Inside of his physical geog'phy, you know. 

When up sneaked the teacher, as quick! 
An' grabbed it an' says: "Now, look here, that will do; 
Just stay after school an' I'll see about you." 

He takes things from girls, too, when they let them drop, 

Or make just the least bit of noise; 
He won't let 'em whisper, an' tells 'em to stop 

A-passin' 'round notes to the boys. 
Seems like there ain't nothin' that pleases the man; 
I'm sure we all study as hard as we can. 

Sometimes I just wonder what 'comes of the things 

He takes from us kids ev'ry day. 
Does he read the books an* keep all of the rings 

An' throw all the pictures away? 
But whether he really enjoys 'em or not, 
I'd sure like to have all the playthings he's got. 

Page 12 



THE JOYS OF ILLNESS. 



Now, honest, boys, 'tween you an' me — 
I wouldn't tell it 'round, you know — 

But ain't it kinder nice to be. 
Sometimes, a little sick, just so 

Your mother'll pet you, an' bathe your head, 

An' shake up your piller, an' smooth your bed; 

An' make the other kids skiddoo. 

So you can sleep, you understand. 
While she sits near an' watches you. 

An' cools your brow, an' holds your hand; 
An' coaxes an' praises her sonny when 
She gives him his medicine now an' then? 

Then when you're gettin' well an' sound. 

An' mother's eyes are full of joy. 
The others have to stand around 

An' try to please her precious boy ; 
An' when she starts bringin' you good things to eat. 
There ain't no use talkin,' a sick spell's a treat. 

Seems like, somehow, it isn't fair 

To think that many a little lad 
Is left without a mother's care; 

For boys need mothers awful bad; 
An' 'specially to pet you, an' bathe your head. 
An' shake up your piller — when you're sick in bed. 



Page 13 



DESPERATION. 



I just wish 'at somethin' would happen to me; 
I'm gettin' as lonesome as lonesome can be. 
Been tryin' a month now to ketch whoopin' cough; 
I can't even manage to fall from the loft. 
There's plenty of nails, but I don't find the points; 
Don't have any luck dislocatin' my joints; 
My ankle ain't sprained, nor I ain't mashed my toe. 
So no one pays me any 'tention, you know. 

Jim Morgan, he climbed up on top of their barn 
An', then took a tumble an' fractioned his arm. 
An' now he's a-carryin' it 'round in a sling. 
Just actin' as if he's as proud of the thing! 
Joe Perky, he happened to step on a tack 
An' he's got his foot all tied up in a sack, 
A-soakin' in coal-oil, or else turpentine. 
An' talkin' 'bout lockjaw like he thinks it's fine. 

The Tomkinses dog it bit Allison Ladd, 
An' now he's insistin' that Towser was mad; 
He thinks 'at he's smarter than most anyone 
An' talks like he thought hyderfoby was fun. 
Tom Howell, he's braggin' 'bout swallerin' a pin — 
He says 'at right now it's a-jabbin' thro' him . 
I just feel as if I'm left out in the cold 
When I stand around hearin' them stories told. 

But somethin's a-goin* to happen to me — 

Just keep your eyes open tomorrow an' see. 

I'll have my right arm bandaged all up in splints — 

My! Won't I go 'round feelin' just like a prince? 

One eye will be poulticed; I'll walk with a crutch — 

When kids look at me they won't think 'at they're much. 

'Course that's just pertendin', but this is the truth: 

I'm goin' to let mother pull out my loose tooth! 



Page 14 



THE CROWNING WISH. 



Other day my mother whispered 

As I sat upon her knee : 
**Pretty soon you'll have a birthday 

What you want your gift to be?" 
'Cause I'm getting awful big now 

An* ril soon be six, you see. 

"Don't you want a lovely playhouse. 
Furnished all in blue or white? 

Or a beautiful new dolly 
Wouldn't that be a delight? 

Or a lovely little necklace 

With a diamond shining bright? 

**0r perhaps you'd like a pony 
Hitched up to a little cart. 

Or a darling woolly puppy 

Or some toys that stop and start — 

What is mother's darling wanting? — 
Bless her precious little heart." 

What you s'pose I told my mother 
'At I'd like the best of all 

Not a pony, nor a doggy. 
Nor a lovely baby doll — 

But the thing I want the mostest 
Is a boo'ful parasol. 



Page 15 



DESERTED. 

My brother Joe an' me, we used 

To have just lots of fun 
A-pIayin* tricks on all the girls 

To make *em scream an' run; 
But Joe, he's changed so much 'at he 
Ain't no more company fer me. 

He's quit a-teasin' girls at all — 
He says it ain't perlite — 

He's just so nice to 'em at school 
An' takes 'em out at night; 

He writes 'bout forty notes a day — 

I don't know what he finds to say. 

Our mother used to have to make 
Him give his shoes a shine. 

An' when it come to washin' necks, 
Why, there Joe drew the line; 

But now he never even fails 

To brush his teeth an' clean his nails. 

He's always fussin' with his clo'es; 

He keeps his trousers pressed. 
An' puts on half a dozen ties 

To see which looks the best ; 
Why, when he's dressin', I declare. 
He spends an hour on his hair. 

He wastes his money on ice-cream 
An' takin' girls to shows — 

Seems like he has one taggin' 'long 
'Most everywhere he goes — 

He actually bought that Ada Spence 

Some bon-bons 'at cost fifty cents! 

He never takes me with him now — 

I only wish he did — 
He seems to think 'at he's a man 

An' I'm a little kid. 
I ain't sixteen, but if I wuz 
I wouldn't act the way he does! 



Page 16 



RAINY WEATHER. 



Some folks grumble 'bout the weather 

When it's this-a-way; 
Say they're sick an' tired of seein' 

Rain fall every day; 
But my Dad 'lows they don't stop to 

Think of everything. 
How the grass is gittin' greener, 

Just like it was spring. 
Flowers a-bloomin', grain a-growin'. 

Ground a-gittin' wet. 
Ready for next season's plantin' — 

What's the use to fret 
Ef there does a little cotton 

Get beat in the earth? 
Even ef that crop is damaged. 

Think what stock is worth. 
An' the feed this weather's makin' 

For the winter time — 
These are things for folks to think of 

When the sun don't shine. 

We-all done been pickin' cotton 

In the broilin' sun, 
Draggin' hea\y sacks behind us — 

Tell you, 'taint no fun. 
But on rainy days us youngsters 

We just do the chores. 
An' ef we are good our mother 

Let's us play indoors; 
Then we go to San Antonio — 

On a train of chairs — 
Ain't it fun to be conductor, 

Takin' up the fares? 
Callin' out the stoppin' places, 

Yellin' "All aboard!" 
Why, us children wouldn't worry 

Ef the rain just poured. 

TTien, when we git tired of playin'. 

Mother ain't afraid 
Of us kids a ketchin' cold, an' 

So she lets us wade 
In the gutters by the roadside — 

Gee, but ain't it great? 



Page 17 



Why, the other day Bill Thompson, 

He stopped at our gate 
An' he sez, **The creek's done riz up 
On your pasture land!' 
So we all run down to see it — 

My ! but it looked grand — 
Us boys sho' did get excited, 

Planned what we would do 
Ef it kep' a-risin' till it 

Reached our houses, too. 

An' the rain keeps drinni', drippin'. 

Night begins to fall. 
Then the chores are done for evenin'. 

Wood brought in, an' all, 
Mother has the supper ready, 

Just what we like best, 
Cornbread, 'lasses, beans an' bacon. 

Pie, and all the rest. 
WTien the table's done cleared up, then 

We all gather 'round 
Tellin' stories, listenin' to the 

Raindrops soothin' sound. 
Mingled with the pine wood's cracklin* 

As the fire burns bright — 
Why, there's nothin' half so cozy 

As a rainy night. 

Course the mud gits pretty deep, an' 

Some men's feelin' blue 
'Cause it takes three teams of mules to 

Pull a wagon through — 
Went to town with Pa today an' 

Down there on the street 
Heard a man say folks had waded 

Till they'd grown web feet! 
For a minute, when I heard it. 

It gave me a fright; 
Soon's I could I looked at my toes. 

But they're still all right. 
So I guess the only ones that's 

Gettin' like a goose 
Is the folks that's always grumblin' 

When the rain turns loose. 



Page 18 



WHEN SISTER HAS A BEAU 



Ma says sometimes she's kinder glad 

When Sister has a beau 
'Cause Sis, she flies around the house 

An' cleans things up, you know. 
An' Ma don't have to coax or scold 

Or tell her what to do. 
Or worry all the time for fear 

'At she won't quite get through. 
For everything must be just so 
When Sister's goin' to have a beau. 

Oh, yes, when Sister whisks around 

With duster an' with broom, 
A-settin' everything to rights 

An' hummin' on a tune; 
A-puttin' flowers here an' there 

An' lookin' kinder wise — 
I wink at Ma — an' we don't 'spress 

No feelin' of surprise 
'Cause that's the way she does, you know. 
When Sister's goin' to have a beau. 

When Sister gets before the glass 

An' fusses with her hair; 
Puts on 'bout every dress she has 

An' don't know what to wear. 
An' then calls Mother in at last 

To fasten up her dress. 
We don't ask what the 'casion is 

It isn't hard to guess; 
Fer all them symptoms goes to show 
That Sister's goin to have a beau. 

When she says, "Johnnie, don't you think 

You better go an' play — 
An' it don't matter very much 

How long you stay away — 
An' Ma, I s'pose that you an' Pa 

Can set indoors all right, 
'Cause mebbe I'll have company 

Out on the porch tonight," 
An' then her cheeks begin to glow — 
Why, Sister's goin' to have a beau. 



Page 19 



But still Ma says she*s kinder glad 

When Sister has a beau, 
'Cause then the house is sure to be 

All tidied up, you know. 
An' Sis will work so willin* like. 

With such a happy smile, 
A dreamin' an' a-plannin' 

An' a-hummin' all the while. 
Perhaps Ma thinks of long ago, 
When she was goin' to have a beau. 



Page 20 



PEELIN' TIME— AND AFTER. 



"Peaches! Apples! Watermelons!" hear the hucksters* 

cry; 
Every hour through all the day there's wagons goin' by. 
Mother's in the kitchen cannin'; likewise Mary Lou; 
Father comes in for his dinner — he gets busy, too. 
If we boys go near the kitchen someone's sure to call: 
"Come on, boys, an' peel some peaches! Room enough 

for all!" 

When the neighbors come to visit, they all lend a hand — 
Why they don't get through a-peelin' I can't understand — 
Even when Joe Benson come to take Sis out to drive 
He went out into the kitchen, asked 'em for a knife. 
Went to peelin' — He's the biggest goose I ever saw; 
Guess he done it 'cause he wanted to stand in with Ma. 

First, I thought it was a picnic, an' I et an' et; 
Jest got all the fruit I wanted — I can taste it yet — 
Now, no matter if they have it all around the place. 
Couldn't look a peach nor apple right square in the face. 
Don't see why they keep a-gettin' somethin' every day, 
Peelin' more'n they'll ever need an' puttin' it away. 

"Peaches! Apples! Watermelons!" How the time does 

fly! 
Here's old winter right upon us; pile the logs up high! 
Look at the preserves an' jellies! Look at all the fruit! 
Open up some peaches, mother, an' some jam, to boot! 
Ask the neighbors in to visit; telephone to Joe — 
We don't mind a-havin' comp'ny when we're fixed, you 

know. 
Easy 'nough to catch some chickens, fry 'em nice an' brown; 
Mother's makin' pumpkin pies, I guess I'll hang around — 
Think I'll keep close to the kitchen, so I'll hear her call: 
"Come on, boys, an' eat your dinner! Room enough for 

all!" 



Page 21 



THE ICE MAN. 



Ice man comes to our house 

Early in the mornin' 
Alius walks right in 'ithout 

Givin' any warnin'; 
Bolts into the kitchen where 
Mother's cookin* breakfast there — - 
Bet ef that ice man would tell 
All the things 'at he sees — well. 

People sure would stare. 

'Course he can't expect to find 

Folks fixed up so fancy, 
An' he doesn't seem to mind 

Ketchin' Man' Nancy 
With the'r hair — what's left — so tight 
That they look a perfect fright. 
An' a wearin' good deal less 
Than they put on when they dress 

Afternoons er night. 
But he never seems to hear 

When Dad's cross er surly, 
Mebbe scoldin' Ma fer fear 

Breakfast won't be early. 
Wades right in, with muddy feet. 
Sees just what we got to eat. 
Finds the house all upside down. 
With our clo'es a-layin' 'round — 

Anything but neat. 

Yes, the ice man comes our way 

Early in the mornin'; 
Never has a word to say. 

Don't give any warnin'; 
Jest comes up the kitchen walk 
Doesn't even stop to knock — 
Bet ef he'd tell all he knows. 
Other places where he goes. 

Neighbors sure would talk. 



Pagre 22 



WHAT MAMMY TOLD TO MARY. 



Ah 'spect you won't believe me, chile. 

Hit sho'ly do soun' quare. 
But — once dere wuz a little gal 

Wif skin so white an' fair. 
An' big, blue eyes an' rosy cheeks. 

An' floatin', yaller hair. 
She wuz a mighty purty gal, 

But la, me, she wuz bad; 
Her folkses spiled her 'caze she wuz 

Do onliest chile dey had. 

She had a pickaninny nurse 

She liked to call her "maid," 
Wif kinky hair an* shiny eyes. 

An' skin an inky shade, 
Dat alius liked to wear a red 

Bandanner 'round her haid. 
She lubbed her little missy, too. 

An' alius tried to mind — 
About as nice a cullud chile 

As you would care to find. 

Now, honey lamb. Ah hates to tell 

De way dat white chile ack; 
An' how she'd 'buse her little nurse 

Dat dassent strike her back. 
She wuz a pow'ful naughty gal — 

Dat sho'ly am a fack. 
But keep yo' ears wide open while 
Ah tells you, so you'll know 
What happened to dat cruel chile 

A long, long time ago. 

One day she flew into a rage 

An' struck, an' clawed, an' bit — 
Jes' mad about some triflin' thing; 

Dere wa'n't no sense in hit — 
While little Dinah cringed an' begged, 

'Most skeered into a fit. 
When suddenly from 'mong de trees, 

Dere come an ugly witch. 
An' creeped up to dat naughty gal 

An' teched her wif a switch 



Paffe 23 



An' jest inside a minute she 

Wuz black instead of white! 
De little pickanniny maid 

She runned off in a fright 
An' kivered up her face to keep 

From lookin' on de sight; 
While naughty little Nell went home 

As fas' as she could spin — 
But when she corned up on de po'ch 

Dey wouldn't let her in. 

Her mother saw dat she wuz black. 

An' drove her frum de do' ! 
An' said: "Now don't you evah come 

In mah front yard no mo'; 
Whar did you come frum anyhow? 

Ah ain't seen you befoo' ; 
An' so dat po*. misfort'nate gal 

She had to go away. 
An' wandered roun' among de trees 

Froo all dat lonesome day. 

An' purty soon de dark come on. 

Away out in de wood, 
De googly goblins gathered roun' 

An' in a ring dey stood. 
An' rolled dere eyes! Yas, dat po' chile 

Sho' did wish she'd been good. 
An' as her tears wuz flowin' fast — 

Dis am a fack Ah tell — 
Dat ole witch stole up to her side 

An' cotched dem as dey fell. 

**Ef you is cryin' fo' yo' sins. 

An' not becaze you's skeered," 
She said, *'Jes' wash in dese here tears 

An' don't yo' be afeard. 
An' so she did, an' would you b'lieve, 

De black all disappeared; 
For she wuz sho' nuff sorry fer 

De things dat she had done. 
An' wanted to be good an' sweet 

An' kind to every one. 



Pa»o 24 



An' den dat ole witch changed into 

A fairy, dressed so grand; 
She smiled an' said, **Now le's go home," 

An' took her by de hand; 
'Caze Nelly wuz a white chile now. 

Of co'se you understand. 
An' when dey reached her father's house 

De folks wuz all so glad. 
An' nevah mo' did she forget 

De lesson she had had. 



25 



THE CHILDREN ON OUR STREET. 



Vm glad that I'm living out on our street; 

I'll tell you the reason why; 
It's just for the pleasure it is to meet 

The children as they go by 
To school every morning, vyrith faces alight. 
For somehow it helps me to start the day right. 

It gives me a peep into Childhood's Land, 

Where grown-ups are not allowed. 
For few are the people who understand 

The ways of the merry crowd; 
And as they pass by me, so happy and gay. 
They somehow make lighter the cares of the day. 

Their laughter and chatter in fragments drift. 

Like rose petals softly blov^. 
And oft as I catch them the shadows lift. 

And oft have my troubles flown; 
For somehow their greetings and words of cheer 
Have magical power the skies to clear. 

And so I enjoy living on our street. 

Where school girls and boys must go. 
With eager young faces and voices sweet. 

So frequently to and fro; 
Why, somehow there's nothing seems hopelessly wrong 
While light-hearted children go laughing along. 



Pagre 26 



THE LAND OF GROWN-UPS. 



Last night I was weary and troubled 

And as I lay sleeping I dreamed 
I dwelt in a land without children — 

Ah, me! how deserted it seemed — 
Not even the cry of a baby 

Disturbed the repose of the air; 
'Twas terribly quiet and dreary. 

With only grown-ups everywhere. 

No innocent, toddling wee youngsters; 

No rollicking, mischievous boys; 
No girls with their laughing and chatter; 

No shouting or playing with toys; 
Why, even the birds twittered feebly; 

The flowers seemed not half so fair; 
For, dears, they were missing their comrades. 

With only grown-ups everywhere. 

The men of that country were busy. 

On self-seeking interests bent; 
TTie women, in rich, costly raiment. 

On ease and on pleasure intent; 
But yet, as I looked in their faces, 

I read a great heart-hunger there; 
They could not help longing for babies. 

With only grown-ups everywhere. 

For what would the world be without them. 

Or what would make life seem worth while. 
Bereft of the blessing of children. 

The sweetness of babyhood's smile? 
I woke from my sleep with a shudder. 

Oppressed with a sense of despair — 
Ah, yes, 'twould be bitterly lonely 

With only grown-ups ever5rwhere. 



P*se 27 



MY NEIGHBORS. 



As forth I fared this morning. 

When the air was soft and sweet. 
Two ladies I met strolling 

Along the quiet street; 
And both were dressed so oddly, 

I could not help but stare. 
With quaint hats tilted proudly 

Upon their floating hair. 

With veils and gloves and bracelets 

And with graceful, sweeping trains, 
'Twas plain to see their toilets 

Had been arranged with pains. 
They trod the path sedately 

And in their hands they bore 
Such rare bouquets of flowers 

As I'd ne'er seen before. 

I paused to give them greeting. 

And they blushed and smiled at me. 
And said they'd been invited 

To Mrs. Jones' to tea. 
They gave me of the blossoms 

They'd plucked along the way 
And said they must be going — 

They hadn't time to stay. 

I peeped beneath their hat brims. 

Just to look into their eyes. 
And when I saw them laughing — 

Imagine my surprise; 
For those fair dames so stately, 

With hair of brown and gold. 
Were just my little neighbors. 

And only six years old. 



Page 28 



PAPER DOLLS. 



Rummaging 'round in my storeroom dim, 

Where the dust lies thick and the walls are grim, 

Deep in a trunk unused and old 

That gave forth a scent of musk and mold, 

I chanced to unearth a precious store 

My own hands had placed there years before. 

And tenderly from their place I took 

Some timewom toys and a story book, 

A wee short dress and a baby's shoe, 

A dear little, quaint little *'Number two;" 

A Noah's ark and a set of blocks — 

And something shut tight in a pasteboard box. 

I carried this treasure trove out to the light. 
And there, in their colors so gay and bright, 
Were hundreds of beautiful paper dolls 
In spangles and trimmings and fol-de-rols. 
Still brilliant as when, in their glad array. 
Small fingers had clipped them one bygone day. 

Then memory rolled backward the curtain again 
And fondly I thought of the glad time when, 
Down on the floor with her toys she played. 
My dear little sunny-haired, blue-eyed maid. 
Pleased with her playthings, but most of all. 
To cut from my style books each "paper doll." 

In a blur of tears are the toys all hid. 
As I gently close once more the lid. 
But I rouse as a gay voice greets my ear 
*'Come see the new fashions. Mother dear!" 
And my daughter, true to her first love, smiles 
As we look at the "dolls" in the winter styles. 



Page 29 



A SUNBEAM. 

Alone in a strange, busy city. 

Where nobody knew me nor cared 
That I should be lonely or weary. 

As on thro' the twilight I fared. 
The people who hurriedly passed me 

Seemed cruelly selfish and cold 
And I longed for just one friendly greeting, 

With a homesick sensation untold. 

When, dancing alon^ like a sunbeam, 

I saw such a dear little child. 
With laughing brown eyes and brown tresses. 

And as she drew near me she smiled. 
Her eyes full of innocent welcome; 

Then, when I said, "How do you do?" 
She lifted her face, like a flower. 

And murmured, "I want to kiss you." 

Then tenderly, softly, I kissed her. 

My heart growing warmly content. 
And saw her return to her mother. 

As on to my lodging I went; 
For over my soul came the knowledge 

That no one can be "all alone" 
While children stand ready to offer 

The sweetest of love that is known. 



Page 30 



TO THE BABIES. 



I'm writing this to you to say 

I saw a Man the other day 

That said the awfullest things 'bout you 

And talked as if he thought 'twas true. 

I'll try to tell you, if I can, 

TTie things he said, that dreadful Man. 

He said that babies all are bad! 
From tiny- wees to little lad; 
Of wicked, vicious, cruel mind — 
Now, children, wans't that unkind? 
He said they fairly take delight 
In getting up a baby fight. 

He said they're try rants and they're thieves — 
Oh, children dear, it really grieves 
My heart these awful things to tell — 
He said they'll howl and shriek and yell 
All night and sometimes half the day. 
Just bound to have their selfish way. 

He said — imagine my surprise — 
That babies try to gouge out eyes. 
And scratch and bite and pull our hair. 
And dearly love to smash and tear; 
That when he sleeps he always fears 
They'll poke a hatpin through his ears. 

He said — but I won't tell the rest; 
I don't believe it would be best. 
But when you're going down the street 
Some day this Man you're sure to meet. 
And when you do, just turn your head. 
Remembering the things he said. 



Page 31 



MY WISH. 

If I could have my wish come true 

What would it be, sweet Eyes of Blue? 
'Twould be that never a little child 

Should shiver with cold when the wind blows wild; 
But cozy and sheltered, and safe and sound. 

Should sit by the hearth when the rain comes down, 
And while the fire crackles and snaps in glee 

Be happy and comfy, like you and me. 

If I could have my wish come true. 

As oft in fairy tales they do, 
I'd wish that never a girl or boy 

Should suffer hunger or lack for joy; 
Should never be weary and sad and lone. 

But each little child should have a home. 
With plenty of food and love and care. 

And brothers and sisters his joys to share. 

If I could have my wish come true. 

Then, best of all, sweet Eyes of Blue, 
I'd wish that never a childish heart 

Should gaze in grief or stand apart 
And long for a mother's love to cheer; 

But each should have two parents dear. 
And never should lack for a good-night kiss. 

Could I wish for more, sweetheart, than this? 



Page 32 



SHE AND I. 

My neighbor has beautiful diamonds galore; 

No jewels at all have I. 
In a fine automobile she passes my door; 

Not even a carriage have I. 
She has servants to answer her every call; 

No maid in my kitchen have I, 
None at all. 

She lives in a mansion that's stately and grand; 

A plain little cottage have I. 
Her friends come a-calling with cards in their hands; 

Just people to visit have I. 
No labor or worrying cares come her way, 

But busy and anxious am I 
Every day. 

Yet I possess treasures of value untold; 

No riches like mine has she; 
For I have my babes with their locks of gold; 

No children at all has she. 
My darlings' wee carriage I push by her gate; 

No need for a go-cart has she — 
Lonely fate. 

My cottage reechoes with laughter and fun; 

No noise in her mansion has she. 
My rest-time is sweet when the day's work is done; 

No loved ones to care for has she. 
And well do I know that her sad heart must ache; 

For were I as poor as is she 
Mine would break. 



Page 33 



A LITTLE CHILD. 



What is the sweetest thing in life? 

*Tis the laugh of a little child; 
A swift, glinting sunbeam of purest ray. 
That, e'en tho' the sky may be dull and gray. 
Will coax all the lowering clouds away. 

By its innocent charm beguiled. 

What is the saddest thing in life? 

'Tis the grief of a little child; 
For who will not pause, as he goes along. 
To comfort the woes or to right the wrong ; 
To lure once again to those lips a song, 

And be happier when he has smiled? 

What is the dearest thing in life? 

'Tis the love of a little child; 
A wee, tousled head nestling on your breast; 
Two soft, dimpled arms warmly 'round you pressed; 
For that precious boon we would give the rest. 

And be glad with a joy undefiled. 



Page 34 



MEETING MOTHER. 



A baby came laughing across the street. 
With long, floating ringlets and flying feel; 
With glad arms outstretching, and eager eyes 
That suddenly changed into blank surprise. 
As two rosy lips faltered faintly, "Oh, 
I fought it was muvver a-tummin', you know.** 

Then into my throat came a feeling queer 
And up to my eyes rushed a rebel tear. 
As gently I led her back to her gate 
And bade her to patiently stand and wait; 
For ah, as her soft, dimpled hand clung fast. 
Before me came rushing the vanished past. 

When sweet baby faces with love alight 
And eyes with their home-coming welcome bright. 
With tresses that tossed in the vagrant breeze. 
Came running to me 'neath the murmuring trees — 
Ah, dear little wand'rer, your ringlets shine 
Like those of a fair little maid of mine. 

I wonder, sweetheart, if your mother knows. 
As day unto day on her way she goes. 
That sometime she'll long for your baby hand; 
When you've drifted on out of Childhood Land; 
And dream, with a memory sad and sweet. 
Of welcoming voices and flying feet. 



Page 35 



THE WELCOME AT THE DOOR. 



Sometimes the day is full of care; 

The hours seem wearisome and long; 
Vexations meet me here and there, 

And somehow everything goes wrong; 
How sweet then to know when the day's work is o'er 
My baby will welcome me home at the door. 

Sometimes temptations crowd my way 

To lead me from the path of right, 
And oftentimes my feet would stray 

Could I not see this beacon light; 
For then do I say in my heart, o'er and o'er, 
"My baby is watching for me at the door." 

Sometimes, alas, 'tis ours to grieve 

O'er childish voices long since stilled, 
And then what comfort to believe 

That thus the all-wise Father willed, 
And that, at the end, when life's journey is o'er 
In Heaven our babies will wait at the door. 



Page 



CHILDREN'S DAY IN SACRED STORY. 



The gladdest Children's Day on earth 
Was that which gave the Christ child birth ; 
A little babe, all robed in white, 
Announced by heavenly angels bright 
And hailed by wise men with delight. 
To be the children's Friend alway — 
We thank Him fcr that joyous day. 

The saddest Children's Day, we read. 
Was when the wicked King decreed: 
"Each babe in Bethlehem must die!" 
Out rang the mothers' anguished cry; 
In vain to save theii* babes they try; 
Relentless hands snatch them away — 
Oh! Was not that a dreadful day? 

The happiest Children's Day, we know. 
Was one glad time when, long ago. 
The Savior took upon His breast 
The little ones that 'round Him pressed ; 
And all that came to Him He blessed. 
"Of such as these," they heard Him say — 
That surely was a blissful day. 

The grandest of all Children's Days 
Was when, with songs of sweetest praise 
They made the Jewish temple ring 
With glad Hosannas to their King, 
While graceful, drooping palms they bring. 
He smiles and gently t ids them stay — 
That must have been a glorious day. 

But there's a Children's Day on high. 
Where we shall enter by and by. 
There multitudes of<. children stand, 
A joyous, bright, celesfial band ; 
And Jesus takes them by the hand. 
Let us prepare, while here we stay. 
For that eternal Children's Day. 



Page 37 



Mttvxi Cijrtstmaa 



A Merry, Merry Christmas! 

And a happy, glad New Year! 
May the holidays now coming 

Be filled with hope and cheer; 
May old Santa Claus keep busy 

Till every girl and boy, 
Thro' all the wide, wide country 

Shall share the Christmas joy. 



Paff« 39 



FOOLING SANTA CLAUS. 



Last night was Christmas eve, you know. 

And Joe and Nell and me 
Hung up our stockings in a row 

Where Santa Claus would see; 
And then we hurried into bed 

And Joe and Nell soon slept. 
But into my mischievous head 

A naughty scheme had crept. 

My stockings looked so very small — 

Vm only eight years old — 
I knew they wouldn't do at all 

Such lots of things to hold; 
For I had written him to bring 

All kinds of games and toys — 
I guess I asked for everything 

That's most enjoyed by boys. 

So softly from my bed I rose — 

I knew that it was wrong — 
And found a pair of Mamma's hose, 

TTiey were so good and long; 
And then my own I quickly hid 

And hung hers in their place; 
TTien hurried into bed, I did. 

And covered up my face. 

Next morning, soon as it was light. 

Ah, happy Joe and Nell! 
Their little socks were stuffed so tight, 

While mine, I grieve to tell. 
Contained a thimble and a purse, 

A collar and a muff, 
A darning set, and what is worse, 

A powder box and puff. 

WTiile to the toe was pinned a note. 

In letters big and plain; 
And this is what old Santa wrote 

To Mamma: "Mrs. Lane, 
I brought a lot of things for Jack, 

But as he's gone away, 
I guess I'll have to take them back 

Until next Christmas day." 



Pag-e 40 



THE CHRISTMAS PRAYER. 



The sweetest tale was told to me — 

ril tell it now to you. 
You're sure to like it better still 

Because it's really true; 
A story of a little girl 

With eager love-lit eyes, 
That opened wide on Christmas mom, 

Alight with glad surprise. 
*'Oh, Daddy, run down stairs," she cried. 

And make the fire burn bright; 
But first please see what Santa Claus 

Left there for me last night. 
And if the things I wanted most 

Have all been brought to me. 
Just whistle up the stairs, and then 

I'll know they've come, you see." 
A pause, and Daddy's whistle came 

Resounding loud and clear — 
"Old Santa Claus has brought them all. 

Just listen, mother dear!" 
And then at what her baby did 

The mother softly smiled. 
For there beside her little bed 

Knelt down the white-robed child. 
**For I must thank the Lord," she said, 

"For answering all my prayer. 
I'll just say, 'Thank you,' to Him now. 

Before I go down stairs." 
And waiting not to see her gifts 

The grateful little maid 
Bowed reverently her childish head 

As tenderly she prayed: 
"Thank you, dear God, for sending what 

I wanted — You're so good 
To give me everything I asked; 

But I was sure you would. 
I'm glad that there's a Christmas time. 



Pase 41 



And thank you, Lord, because 
You've given little girls and boys 

A kind old Santa Claus." 
Oh, was there e'er a sweeter thing 

Than the faith of little May? 
And don't you think she must have had 

A happy Christmas day? 
So should we all with grateful hearts 

Direct our thoughts above, 
And thank the Giver of all good 

For the priceless gift of Love. 



Paff« 42 



EXPECTING SANTA CLAUS. 



For a month or so my Mamma 
Has been saying every day. 

If I were cross or naughty, 

"Now you mustn't act this way. 

For Christmas time is almost here. 

And Santa Claus is somewhere near. 

I've been saving all my pennies. 
And nickels, when I could, 

Though lots of times I wanted 
To buy me something good; 

But Christmas time was drawing nigh. 

And there were Christmas gifts to buy. 

Just seems to me the big folks 

Have acted awful sly. 
TTiey'd talk around in whispers 

Whenever I'd go by; 
But Christmas was almost at hand — 
And Santa Claus, you understand. 

I wrote to Santa Claus last week 
And told him what to bring: 

A nice, big doll, some furniture, 
A story book and ring. 

Christmas would be here in a trice! 

I knew he'd bring me something nice. 

And now he's surely coming; 

His reindeer glide along; 
I hear his merry sleigh bells! 

Let's greet him with a song! 
For Christmas time is really here. 
And Santa Claus is somewhere near. 



Fag-a 42 



THE CHRISTMAS LETTERS. 



Away in the bleak, frozen Northland, 

Where the fields are all covered with snow, 
Old Santa was busily reading 

His letters a few days ago. 
In front and behind and around him 

Was spread such an ocean of toys. 
All manner of gifts and of treasures 

Delightful to girls and to boys ; 
And Oh! how the letters kept coming! 

It looked like he'd never get through; 
But Santa Claus read every message 

And made out his lists from them, too. 

But all of a sudden I saw him 

Look puzzled as puzzled could be. 
He took off his glasses and rubbed them 

As if not quite sure he could see. 
TTien peering again still more closely, 

He called to someone standing near 
And said: "Come and read me this letter; 

There's something about it that's queer. 
And then, with a face growing tender, 

A mist in his keen, twinkling eyes. 
He listened to this Christmas message 

That plainly had caused such surprise: 

*'Dear Old Santa Claus," said the letter, 

"I'm writing to say I don't care 
To have you bring me any presents, 

'Couse, really, I don't think it's fair 
For me to get lots of nice playthings 

While poor little Margery Hall, 
Whose mother works hard for their living 

Won't have hardly any at all. 
Why, Santa, she says that last Christmas 

You didn't have her on your list. 
I can't understand it — and maybe 

There's others that you might have missed. 

"It's likely you ran out of presents 
Before you reached Margery's house 

'Cause she says she hung up her stockings 
And went to bed, still as a mouse; 

But when she got up in the morning 



Page 44 



And ran to see what you had brought, 
Her poor little stockings were empty. 

And oh ! you left me such a lot. 
So this time I want you to give her 

The things that you meant to give me, 
'Cause Margery needs them so badly 

And I have my old ones, you see. 

"And then, besides goodies and playthings. 

Please take her some stockings and shoes ; 
A nice, warm, new dress and some mittens 

And anything else that you choose ; 
And please, dear old Santa, be careful 

To find all the children that's poor, 
For you can make them, oh, so happy. 

And you won't forget them, I'm sure. 
So now I will finish my letter — 

I hope you won't think it too long — 
And I won't expect you this Christmas 

To visit me. Annabel Strong." 

Old Santa Claus looked very sorry; 

His jolly fat form heaved a sigh; 
And one might have almost detected 

A tear in his bright, merry eye. 
"Go hitch up the reindeer!" he shouted, 

"Get those that are swiftest and fleet; 
Go out through the tenement houses. 

Through each little alley and street, 
And bring me a list of the children 

We might not have called on last year; 
There's many a poor little youngster 

Who watched for me vainly, I fear. 

"And bring me a pen, or a pencil," 

Said Santa, the whimsical elf, 
"In order to get this thing starightened, 

I'll just write a letter myself:" 
"Dear Annabel Strong," then wrote Santa, 

With many a queer little quirk, 
"I want you to know I'm not stingy 

And that I'm not trying to shirk; 
But if you had thousands of children 

Who never had sent you their name 
And living in all sorts of places. 

You'd see that I'm not all to blame. 



Page 45 



*'ril surely take something to Margery, 

And all of the others I can. 
But folks that have plenty must help me— 

I want them to all understand. 
If there were more people like you, dear. 

Unselfish and thoughtful and kind. 
To help me along with my giving, 

I wouldn't be getting behind. 
I'm glad that you wrote me that letter. 

And you won't be sorry, because 
Your heart will be gladder this Christmas 

TTian ever before. Santa Claus." 

Then swift o'er the fields and the mountains. 

His quick, trusty messenger sped. 
And many a poor little youngster 

Was placed on his list, it is said. 
Wee Margery Hall, Christmas morning 

Will know the old Saint has been there 
While Annabel, too, I am thinking. 

Will find he had something to spare. 
But should Santa miss anybody. 

And no Christmas gift has been given. 
Let us make some little child happy, 

"For of such is the Kingdom of Heaven." 



Page 46 



A PUZZLING QUESTION. 



What's the matter with these big folks. 

That they act so queer? 
Why, my Daddy's not the same since 

Christmas is so near. 
WTien I used to run to meet him 

Coming home from town. 
He'd just hug me and he'd kiss me, 

TTien he'd stoop right down 
And he'd let me search his pockets. 

Turn them wrong side out. 
And when I would find some goodies 

How I'd laugh and shout! 

But my Daddy's changed just awful; 

Now he acts so sly ; 
He won't let me touch his pockets. 

Even when I try; 
And he sneaks things in for Mamma 

And won't let me see — 
Why, they both act so pe-cu-liar. 

It just worries me. 
Still, they look at me so loving 

When they say good-night, 
I think maybe, after Christmas, 

Daddy'll be all right. 



Page 47 



A CHRISTMAS WARNING. 



I want to tell you what that naughty boy Ted 
Told me just a few days ago when I said: 

"What's Santa Claus goin' to bring you?" 
He said: *'Why, he won't bring me nothin', because 
There ain't any sure enough old Santa Claus 

That tale you been hearin' ain't true." 

"Why, Teddy!" I cried, "You don't mean what you say! 
You ought to be 'shamed to treat Santa that way 

When he's been so awfully good." 
An' I wouldn't let him tell me 'nother word, 
But ran to my mother an' told what I'd heard. 

As quickly as ever I could. 

An' Mother, she took me right up on her knee — 
For she was as shocked an' as grieved as could be — 

An' cuddled me up close an' tight; 
An' said: "That bad Teddy was teasing you, dear. 
We all know old Santa Claus comes every year; 

He's on his way, maybe, tonight." 

An' my mother told me — an' I know it's true — 
That Santa Claus gets very angry if you 

Go telling such stories as that. 
An' if you once really believe them, why then 
He'll never, no never, come see you again. 

An' Christmas will simply fall flat. 

So, now, if you hear any boy or girl tell 
Such silly old tales as Ted told to me — ^well 

You'll know they just say it because 
Old Santa's quit bringin' them goodies an' toys — 
For he never takes things to bad girls an' boys 

That don't b'lieve in old Santa Claus. 



Pa^e 48 



WHAT NAUGHTY TOMMY SAYS. 



I wish *at Christmas time was here — 

I'm pretty near worn out — 
Fer Mamma she keeps tellin' me: 
"Now mind what you're about. 
An' do jest what I say, because 
Ef you don't — I'll tell 
Old 

Santa 

Claus.'* 
I get so tired of bein' good 

Jest every single day; 
Why, when my mother calls I have 

To answer right away, 
An' come a-runnin' quick, because 
Ef I don't— She'll tell 
Old 

Santa 

Claus. 
I dassent tease my sister 'tall, 

Ner throw her things aroun'. 
They make me keep the baby while 

The others go to town; 
An' I can't make no 'jections, 'cause 
Ef I do— They'll tell 

Old 

Santa 

Claus. 
I think 'at Santa ought to fill 

My stockings to the brim. 
An' bring a lot of things, besides, 

Fer all I've done fer him. 
Ain't had no fun fer a month, because 
I was 'fraid — They'd tell 
Old 

Santa 

Claus. 
But I sure go to Sunday School, 

About this time o' year, 
An' they don't have to make me go — 

Now maybe that sounds queer — 
But that's one thing I do because 
I want them to — Tell 

Old 
Santa 

Claus. 



Page 49 



CHRISTMAS WEALTH. 



*Twas Christmas eve, and on the streets 

The busy crowds passed to and fro, 
Unmindful of the wintry blasts. 

Forgetful of the drifting snow; 
Belated shoppers hurrying home. 

With figures bowing 'neath the weight 
Of queer, mysterious packages — 

Kriss Kringle's wares, a precious freight. 

Outside a window full of toys 

Two women lingered side by side, 
One richly dressed, one thinly clad, 

Both gazing sadly, wistful-eyed; 
And neither knew the other's name. 

So widely were their lots apart. 
Yet e'en the passer-by could see 

The trouble in each v/oman's heart. 

At last they turned to go inside , 

One wearily, with long-drawn sigh 
To think that for her little ones 

So few the trifles she could buy; 
The other with a deeper pang 

Because within her spacious home 
No children watched for Santa Claus; 

Her Yuletide would be dull and lone. 

The mother thought with longing glance 

Of Christmas joys that would be hers 
Had she but half the wealth possessed 

By her proud neighbor, dressed in furs; 
The other watched her hungrily. 

As each small toy was brought to view, 
For well she knew the humbler one 

Was far the richer of the two. 



Page 50 



POOR OLD SANTA CLAUS. 



Old Santa Claus sat in his factory where 

He'd labored for many a year. 
His brow was all knotted and furrowed with care; 
His once merry face bore a look of despair; 

In his eyes shone the trace of a tear. 

**Alas," he sighed, "where are the girls and the boys 

Who once were so easily pleased; 
Who gladly looked forward to holiday joys 
Who sent to me letters just asking for toys, 

And never for luxuries teased? 

"The children who wanted a sled or a drum. 

Or maybe a doll that would speak; 
A 'lightning express' or a jolly popgun, 
Or even a game that would make lots of fun — 

Where are they? I wish they would speak. 

"For youngsters today — you can guess how I feel — 

Want costly mechanical things: 
An air ship that flies, or an automobile, 
A nice set of furs or an up-to-date wheel. 

And watches and diamond rings. 

"My factory equipment don't half fill the bill; 

I've had to redouble my force. 
Expensive demands are increasing until 
I'll soon be a bankrupt, I know that I will. 

If matters keep on growing worse." 

Old Santa Claus groaned as he rose wearily — 

I saw that his form had grown thin — 
"I used to enjoy Christmas letters," said he, 
"But this kind's becoming a burden to me; 
I wish they'd quit sending them in." 



Page 61 



MORE BLESSED TO GIVE. 



They say that old Santa is coming 

To visit the girls and the boys. 
And bring in his sleigh or his auto 

A world of nice presents and toys. 
I'm sure that he's going to bring me 

Just all of the things I want most, 
Because I have written my letter 

And gave it to father to post. 

But, say, do you know I've been thinking 

'Bout a poor little girl 'cross the way. 
Her mother works hard for their living. 

And has to be gone every day; 
They moved in their cottage just lately. 

And oh, it's so shabby and small, 
I'm really afraid that old Santa 

Won't know that she lives there at all. 

And so, just at dawn Christmas morning, 

I'm going to jump out of bed 
And fix myself up like old Santa, 

Put father's fur cap on my head, 
Then, no matter what Santa brings me 

Of toys or of good things to eat, 
I've made up my mind to divide with 

The poor little girl 'cross the street. 

I'll slip them inside of her doorway. 

As quiet as quiet can be; 
But if she should happen to spy me. 

She'll think it was Santa, you see. 
And then she'll be so glad and happy. 

And I will be, too, I believe. 
For did not the Christ teach his children 

*"Tis more blessed to give than receive)' 



Page 52 



THE CHRISTMAS TREE. 



Oh, a wonderful thing is the Christmas tree. 
With its shimmer and sparkle and show! 
With its fairy sheen 
And its boughs of green 
Where the fruits of the Yuletide grow. 
How the charm of it lingers with you and me — 
The beautiful, scintillant Christmas tree! 

Pray tell, was there ever another tree 
Hiat grew in one magical night? 
That e'er could compare 
In trappings so fair, 
Or yielded a harvest so bright? 
Or one that could waken the youthful glee 
That comes with the sight of a Christmas tree? 

For playthings grow thick on the Christmas tree! 
TTiere's dollies and dishes and drums; 
TTiere's trinkets and toys 
For girls and for boys, 
And sometimes old Santa Claus comes; 
TTien what a gay clamor there's sure to be 
When Santa presides at the Christmas tree. 

Ah, could we but summon each Christmas tree 
We've reared in the sweet long ago ; 
With each childish face 
That once had a place 
In the light of the Yuletide glow; 
Yet happier far in our memories are we 
Than they who've ne'er needed a Christmas tree. 



Pagre 53 



SUPPOSE. 

Suppose that all of the Christmas toys 

In all of the country wide 
Were piled in one wonderful, glittering heap. 
As high as a mountain and twice as steep. 

Could you climb to the top if you tried? 

Suppose all the Christmas girls and boys 
Should climb that big hill and not fall. 
And then could look over the land near and far. 
Right down in the homes where the poor children are 
Who never have Christmas at all. 

Suppose that all of the Christmas noise 

Were turned into one big blast? 
My! Wouldn't it be like a cannon's sound 
And wouldn't that mountain come tumbling down? 

How long do you s'pose it would last? 

Then s'pose that the Christmas girls and boys 

Should gather the toys one by one. 
And like some good fairies should ride thro' the air 
And see that each poor little child had a share — 

Now, don't you think that would be fun? 

Suppose that all of the Christmas joys 

Were turned into one big shine? 
Would it equal the light in those children's eyes 
When they first opened wide in the glad surprise 

Of a "sure enough" Christmas time? 



Page 54 



Stabrt Berses 



CONTENTMENT. 



We ain't pestered none with envy. 

My wife Lizabeth an^" me; 
We ain't carin' if our neighbors 

Have a finer house than we; 
Stylish livin' wouldn't suit us, 

We'd a good deal ruther be 

Jest — plain — folks. 

See a heap of automobiles 

Scootin' up an' down the street; 

Tootin' horns, an' dodgin' sideways, 
Scarin' everyone they meet; 

An' sez I, an old-time surrey 

With a good hoss, can't be beat 

Per jest — plain — folks. 

Tell you my idee of comfort: 

Cozy little house fer two; 
Place to read an' smoke an' visit; 

Entertain a friend or two; 
Rooms all furnished neat an' simple — 

Don't take very much to do 

Fer jest — plain — folks. 

Let us have a bunch o' chickens ; 

Keep 'em hatchin' now an' then; 
Like to have a little garden — 

See the roses come again — 
Few shade trees an' lilac bushes; 

Why, what more'd we ask fer, when 
We're jest — plain — folks. 

All we want of this world's riches 
Is enough to help the poor 

An' to keep ourselves from thinkin' 
'Bout the wolf around our door; 

'Nough to keep us two in comfort. 
Ain't a-askin' nothin' more 

Fer jest — plain — folks. 

Why, there's jest a heap o' people 
That from worry would be freed; 

From their schemin' an' contrivin' 
An' their overpowerin' greed, 

Ef they'd only be contented 

With the things they really need 

Fer jest — plain — folks. 



Page 57 



PHYSICAL CULTURE AND THANKSGIVING 
DINNER. 



They've joined the Physical Culture Club, 

My Ma and Sister Lou, 
And lots of women in our town 

Is crazy 'bout it, too. 
Ma's takin' it to make her thin. 

An' Sis to make her fat. 
An' both of them is doin' stunts 

Just like an acrobat. 
One day I peeked in Mother's room — 

It scared me most to death. 
For she was wavin' both her arms; 

An' holdin' in her breath; 
But when she got down on the floor 

I just run out to Dad 
An' says, *'Come quick, an' 'tend to Ma! 

I b'lieve she's goin' mad!" 
An' Dad he come a-runnin'. 

An' Ma was still in there, 
A-crouchin' down, an' reachin' up. 

An' clawin' in the air; — 
But Dad he laughed, an' says, "Why, Son,' 

I guess he must a-knew — 
That's just some physical culture work 

Your Ma's a-goin' through. 
They say it cures most everything — 

In fact, it never fails — 
From 'cute appendicitis down 

To chronic ingrowin' nails. 
They've all stopped eatin' solid food. 

Just live on milk an' juice. 
An' Ma's been braggin' that her clo'es 

Is gettin' awful loose. 
They drank a glass of milk on hour — 

At least a gallon a day. 
An' all the cows is mooin' fer 

Their calves that's took away. 
The dairymen's been gittin' rich. 

The grocers 'bout to fail. 
The doctors they 'been loungin' 'round. 

An' drugs ain't had no sale; 
While boys like me, an' great big men. 

That gets as hungry's bears. 
Just wash them physical culture folks 



Pag-e 58 



Would mind their own affairs, 
'Cause we don't have the meals we did 

'Fore Ma begun to fast; 
But Pa he says: "Don't worry. Son, 

Most prob'bly it won't last. 
I sure was glad Thanksgivin' Day, 

When our whole family 
Was asked to Uncle Hiram's house — 

Reunion, don't you see? — 
I tell you Aunt Susanna Lee 

Sure does know how to cook, 
An' Sister Lou an' Mother, they 

Just couldn't set an' look. 
An' so they both got reckless, an' 

Turned loose an' et an' et! 
If they had dared to I expect 

They'd both a-been there yet; 
But anyhow they both et all the 

Turkey that they could, 
An' cranberry sauce, an' pumpkin pie. 

An' other things that's good. 
Of course their stomachs wasn't used 

To such athletic stunts; 
That night we had to phone an' have 

The doctor come at once. 
An' all day Ma an Sister Lou 

Has been laid up in bed — 
Why, half the women in the town 

Is sick, the doctor said — 
But he was lookin' cheerful, an' 

The druggist wore a smile, 
'Cause business in their line ain't been 

So good for quite a while. 
It seems the ladies all want health. 

But just 'tween you an' I, 
Their physical cult can't stand the test 

Of turkey an' pumpkin pie. 



Page 59 



OUR POSTMAN. 



Say, we got the finest postman 

Of 'em all, out on our street; 
He's a regular mind reader. 

An' his guesses can't be beat. 
Comes along an' toots his whistle — 

Sister Millie's right on hand — 
She's a-lookin' fer a letter 

From her beau, you understand. 
Postman he just glances at her, 

Standin' there with eager eyes. 
An' he says: "Not yet. Miss Millie." 

Smilin' slow an' lookin' wise. 

Knows when any of the family 

Happens to be out of town ; 
Calls out to us from the gateway. 

As he brings a letter 'round; 
Saying: "Well, here's one from Louis, 

Guess he's gettin' 'long all right; 
Wouldn't be surprised to see him 

Come back home most any night." 
An', sure 'nough, when we have read it, 

Why, we all just have to smile; 
Louis says he's well, an' comin' 

Home in just a little while. 

Even when about the first of 

Every month he brings a bill 
He will say: "Well, girls, I'm sorry. 

Wish I had some word from Will, 
But there's nothing but this statement 

From Montgomery, Smith an' Jones." 
Plain envelope, but he guessed it — 

Must have felt it in his bones. 
Then he goes on, sorting letters. 

Putting some of them on top 
To be handed to the people 

At the next house where he'll stop. 

Brings us postcards sometimes, too, and 
Then he tells us all the news: 

"Here's a pretty one this momin*. 
Come from over at Cousin Sue's. 



Pag^« 60 



Goin' to have a lot of comp*ny; 

Better be a-hurryin' some 
If you *spect to get things ready — 

Saturday's the day they come.'* 
Then of course we read the message. 

Though we really needn't to, 
An' we find, as we expected, 

That the word he brings is true. 

He's a sympathetic postman, 

An' we like to see him come. 
He rejoices when we're happy 

An' he's sorry when we're glum — 
There he comes now with a letter. 

An' he's smilin' — I'm so glad — 
Yes, he says it's from Tom Allen; 

It's the first that Millie's had. 
She's a-blushin', so I know that 

It's sure 'nough from Tom all right; 
Ain't no question but our postman 

Has the gift of second sight. , 



Page 61 



SPRING POTRY. 



Heap o' folks make fun o' po'try 

That is writ about the Spring; 
But they only show the'r ign'ance. 

An' I'm here to say one thing: 
That I think a man's got somethin' 

Badly wrong about his haid 
When he laughs at us for singin' 

*Cause ole Wintertime is daid. 

When the grass is just a-peepin' 

Out to see how cold it is, 
An' the flowers is a-wond'rin' 

Ef they'll git the'r noses friz; 
While they cuddle in the hollers, 

Sorter 'fraid to venture out 
Long as they's a bit o' danger 

Of Jack Frost a-hangin' 'bout. 

When the trees is just a-buddin' 

An' the leaves a-showin' green ; 
When the birds is all a-twitt'rin' — 

Busiest folks you ever seen — 
WTien you kinder have a longin' 

To be workin' in the ground. 
But it seems you caint make headway, 

'Cause you feel like lazin' 'round. 

When you go out to the woodpile 

An' you see it's gittin' low. 
But it somehow don't concern you 

Like it did a month ago; 
An' you think about your coal bills. 

But they don't distress your mind — 
Why, a man kin write Spring po'try 

TTiat cain't write no other kind. 



Page 62 



THE WEARING O' THE GREEN. 



St. Patrick's Day, and on every hand, 
From bright green socks to green hat-band. 
Appears the hue of the Emerald Isle, 
In fashion oft to force a smile. 

For instance, Herman Von Schmidt is dressed 
In new spring suit and gay, green vest. 
While young Francisco Allessandro 
Displays a flaunting, grass green bow. 

Grave Olaf Olson ignores our stares — 
An emerald tie he proudly wears — 
While on the breast of Ben Israel Cohn 
A hapless shamrock blooms alone. 

And Mike O' Hooligan looks with scorn. 
As forth he fares on Patrick's morn, 
And smiles to view the amazing scene, 
AH nations decked in Ireland's green. 

But what is this? With a sudden cry 
Mike rudely grasps a passer-by. 
And shouts with rage, "By St. Patrick, no! 
I draw the line at you. Sambo!" 



Page 63 



WHEN IT RAINS. 



When you feel inclined to grumble 

*Cause the rain keeps comin' down, 
Just recall the long, hot summer. 

When the fields were seared and brown. 
Think about the sufferin' cattle. 

How they perished on the plains, 
Then look o'er the verdant landscape 

And be thankful when it rains. 

Ah, full well do we remember 

How the streets were all so dry 
That we had to wade across them 

When the dust was ankle high; 
When the town that had a shower 

Was so boastful and so proud 
That she couldn't get thro' braggin'; 

And we welcomed every cloud. 

How folks stored up city water 

Every time they got a chance, 
And how bathin' was forbidden 

In some towns by ordinance; 
When we spoke of needin' rainfall 

To most everyone we met — 
And when politics was even 

Talked about as "dry" and "wet.'* 

Now the boundless fields of Texas 

Teem with verdure everywhere; 
Tender grains and sproutin' grasses, 

Bluebonnets and daisies fair; 
So I've one more word of counsel 

To the brother who complains: 
Think of next July and August 

And be thankful when it rains. 



Page 64 



LONESOME. 

Ain't it lonesome when your wife has gone away, 
And you don't know just how long she's goin' to stay ; 

Weeks days you keep workin' on, 

Tryin' to forget she's gone, 
But on Sunday, when you stay at home all day — 

Why, you just can't help a-feelin' sorter blue. 
Everything about the place remindin' you 

Of the Sundays when she's home 

And you're not left all alone, 
Just a-mopin' and a-wond'rin' what to do. 

Guess I don't appreciate her when she's here; 
Sorter take too much for granted — ain't it queer?** 

But it's like a different place 

When I see her cheery face; 
And it's comfort just to know that she is near. 

If, amid the clock's loud ticking, and the creak 
Of this mournful armchair, I could hear her speak. 

See her rockin little Jim, 

Singin' soft and low to him — 
Well, I'm glad that Sunday comes but once a week. 



Page 65 



OH! DAT WATERMILYUN. 



When yo' wants to lose sight ob de future 
An' fergit dat de rent's comin' due; 

When yo'd like to shut out all de troubles 
Dat may be a-waitin' foh you; 

Ef you-all simply wants to be happy 
Why, Ah'll tell yo' de best thing to do. 

Jes' yo' gits a good, big watermilyun. 

But be sho' dat it's ripe an' it's sound — 

Ef yo' keeps yo' eyes open it's likely 
Dat you'll find one a-layin' around — 

Take yo' knife — or yo' razzer — an' cut it, 
Or yo' jes' let it drap on de ground. 

Den yo' grabs up a hunk ob dat milyun, 
An' yo' gits you' face up close behine; 

An' yo' jes' drifts away into hebben, 

While yo's eatin' — m-m-m — ain't it fine? 

It's so juicy an' cool an' deluscious, 
Yo' dunno when yo' gits to de rine. 

All de worl' looks to yo' like dat milyun, 

Jes as rosy an' pleasant an' sweet, 
Wif you' troubles as little an' triflin' 
As de seeds dat fall out as yo' eat. 
An' yo' lubs ebery man like a brudder 
While yo' piles up dem rines at yo' feet. 

Ain't no discount on possum an' taters. 
An' yaller legged chicken's all right; 

Ah don't mind havin' pork-chops an' gravy 
When Ah gits home from workin' at night; 

But jes' gib me a ripe watermilyun 
An' yo' opens de door to delight. 



Page 



VACATION. 



My wife an* I had planned for months 

On that two weeks' vacation; 
We both was anxious for a change 

An' needed recreation. 
The children, too, looked sorter down. 

Some puny an' complainin' ; 
We knew a trip would do them good 

An' help us in regainin' 
Our health an' tempers, so we went, 
An' this is how the time was spent. 

We took the children to the beach 

An' when they saw the water 
TTiey thought they had to go right in — 

Of course they hadn't orter. 
For high up in the heavens there 

Old Sol was jest a-smilin' 
To think of all the pink an' white 

Complexions he was spilin'; 
But we weren*t wise as we are now 
An' so we went in anyhow. 

But first, we rented bathin' suits — 

I wish you could a-seen us — 
Elmiry'n me at either end. 

Five children in atween us; 
A-havin' all our pictures took — 

We sure did look ridic'lous — 
Of all the clo'es we ever wore. 

Them was the most conspicuous; 
An' then we all went wadin' in. 
Out to the ropes an' back again. 

It didn't take us long to get 

Burned most into a blister; 
I sure did pity Alma Joe 

An' likewise little Sister; 
An' after that we waited till 

The sun was jest a-settin' 
Before we went down to the beach 

To get our daily wettin'; — 
An' once a crab pinched Melvin's toe 
An' liked to never let him go. 



Page 67 



IRRESISTIBLE. 



Queer how just a small attention 

Has a power all its own; 
But there's one allurin' gesture 

That is in a class alone, 
And the wily politician, 

As he argues for your vote. 
Will most likely brush off something 

From the shoulder of your coat. 

Saw a man last Monday morning 

Comin' down along the street; 
Thought I'd ask for what he owed me 

Looked Hke I was gettin' beat — 
But I couldn't muster courage 

To remind him of that note 
When the smooth, connivin' critter 

Brushed a speck from off my coat. 

Met a steward out collectin' 

Funds to help fix up his church ; 
Thought I ought to save my money 

Or I'd get left in the lurch; 
But my protest was unuttered 

And a check I meekly wrote 
When that thoughtful, kindly deacon 

Brushed a feather from, my coat. 

Had a life insurance agent 

Wait on me the other day 
Tellin' how this world was fleetin' 

And we all must pass away; 
But I signed his application 

For as much as I could "tote" 
When he brushed a bit of cotton 

From the collar of my coat. 

As I say, it's kinder cur'ous. 

But it none the less is true 
That a little artful flattery 

Will appeal to me and you; 
And the most ungracious answer 

Dies away within your throat 
When your neighbor starts to brushin' 

Shadows from your spotless coat. 



Page 68 



PAT'S IMPRESSIONS. 



Och, Bridget, it sure is confusin'; 

Oi hardly can kape me moind clear 
Down here in this land they call "Dixie;" 

Oi can't undherstand it, me dear; 
For niver a man has a plain, common name. 
But ivery one claims a title to fame. 

There's Gin'rals and Colonels abundant, 
And Majors and Captains galore. 

And sure, such a number of Judges 
Oi niver have met with before; 

But one thing is settled foriver, machree. 

And that is, that niver a soldier I'll be; 

For no common soldier in Dixie 

Has iver been known to survive; 
'Tis only the officers, darlint. 

That come from the conflict alive, 
And should I remain but a private, asthore. 
To this dear, sunny South I'd return nivermore. 

And, Bridget, there's not a plain lawyer 

In all of the coorts of the land; 
But ivery jurist's a Judge, dear. 

And fasht for that honor they sthand. 
'Tis plain to be seen as the nose on your face 
That to be without title is shame and disgrace. 

And then there's the wise politicians; 

It's statesmen they are, ivery one. 
With "Hon'rable" writ in big letthers 

And tacked onto each mother's son; 
And worthy they are, you had betther belave. 
For are they not toilin' their counthry to save? 

Indade and it sure is perplexin', 

A wee bit discouragin', too, 
Tho' Mike, who is workin' forninst me. 

Says Oi have no need to be blue; 
That it's merely a matther of risidence here 
And that soon Oi'll be readin' me own title clear. 



Page 69 



THE DEACON OBJECTS. 



The church at Skeeterville was new. 

And very nearly out of debt; 
An organ had been purchased, too. 

In spite of Deacon Sikes, and yet 
They now were discussing a new chandelier — 
The church was too worldly, that fact was quite clear. 

The deacon scratched his old, gray head — 

'Twas plain he chose to disagree — 
He couldn't hear quite all they said. 

For he was slightly deaf, you see; 
Yet he understood in a general way 
And, getting up slowly, proceeded to say: 

"You all must know that I'm opposed 

To bringin' in new-fangled waj^s. 
When I was young it was supposed 

That we could sing our Maker's praise 
Without no improvements, and so I said *No' 
To buy in' that organ a short while ago. 

**You bought it; now we sing by note. 

With Mandy Perkins at the keys; 
But, brethren all, before you vote 

On this here chan-de-lyre, please — " 
The deacon's voice had an imperious ring — 
"Just tell me who's goin' to play on the thing?" 



Paffd 70 



FATHER HEARS THE PIPE ORGAN. 



We're stayin' in town with our daughter, you know. 
And she kept insistin' that we ought to go 

To hear that pipe organ event. 
It didn't appeal much to fvlother and me; 
We'd heard Mandy Perkins back home, don't you see, 
And knew just about what the music would be; 

But, just to please Mollie, we went. 

The organ began playin' easy and soft — 

My wife said it seemed like some choir from aloft 

A-singin' a heavenly strain; 
And then, with an outburst that filled all the air. 
The clatter of hoofs and the trumpets' loud blare, 
That faded at last to a wail of despair 

And then to a faint moan of pain. 

We heard the approach of a terrible storm. 
As muttering thunder gave out the alarm, 

And then into silence it dropped; 
When all of a sudden the harsh thunder roared. 
The wind-driven torrents relentlessly poured. 
And shivering we waited 'till peace was restored — 

The rage of the elements stopped. 

At last could be heard the sweet call of the bells. 
The sound of a hymn on the air softly swells. 

We hear the clear twitter of birds; 
In fancy we see a glad burst of sunlight. 
The grass looking greener, the flowers more bright; 
Then slowly the picture recedes from our sight. 

In an exquisite *'Song Without Words." 

My good wife and I didn't have much to say. 
As under the starlight we wended our way. 

But finally I said to Sue: 
"That organist's playin' sure was a surprise; 
It taught me I never should be overwise; 
Why, I b'lieve that feller, when he really tries. 

Can beat Mandy Perkins, don't you?" 



Pagre 71 



CONFUSING. 

Never would have knowTi our country 

Wuz in sech an av/ful plight 
Ef I hadn't heard that speaker 

Down at Boone the other night ; 
But he sez that this here 'lection 

TTiat's a-comin' on next fall — 
Ef his candidate ain't elected — 

Will mean ruin to us all. 

Why, he sez the land's in peril; 

That we ought to quake with fear 
For the gov'ment sho' is threatened 

An' her downfall may be near. 
An' he waved his arms an' shouted. 

An' he tossed his flowin' hair, 
As he pictured desolation 

O'er the country everywhere. 

Then a ray of hope he offered 

Tliro' the overwhelmin' gloom, 
As he told us of a hero 

Who might rescue us from doom; 
An' he called on us as patriots 

Jest to lend our voice an' vote 
To the only man whose wisdom 

Could "the people's" cause promote. 

An' we cheered him to the echo. 

An' we grabbed him by the hand — 
But in spite of all his talkin' 

I jest fail to understand 
How it is that them that's workin' 

Fer the other party's slate 
Is a-tryin' to save their country 

From the same appallin' fate. 



Page 72 



MIS' HAWKINS. 

(To Mrs. W. P.) 



Everybody likes Mis' Hawkins, 

Young an' old, all over town ; 
Farmers, too, their wives an' daughters. 

In the country places 'round; 
Got more friends than any other 

Man or woman that I know. 
An' it ain't no job to figger 

Out the reason why it's so. 

Why, Mis' Hawkins never seems to 

Care a cent how you are dressed ; 
Whether you've got on your jumper 

Or your store-made Sunday best ; 
Alius makes you feel that she is 

Just plain folks like you an' me, 
Tho' we all know that she's wealthy. 

She's as friendly as can be. 

When "society" has a "function" 

Why, Mis' Hawkins's in demand; 
When the neighbors are in trouble 

She is sure to lend a hand; 
If some poor folks has a funeral, 

An' they want her there to sing. 
She'll drop everything to help 'em. 

Or a word of comfort bring. 

She can play on the piano; 

Entertain with grace an' ease; 
She can warble in the choir. 

Or in solo, if you please ; 
She can cook a meal of vittles; 

An' on poultry she's a law; 
Knows as much 'bout politics as 

Any man I ever saw. 

No, Mis' Hawkins ain't a widder. 

An' she ain't no suffragette — 
Tho' if she could hold an office 

She could sure have one, you bet — 
But her home is full of youngsters. 

An' her husband's got a prize 
In a wife that looks at livin' 

Thro' the proper sort of eyes. 



Page 73 



CIRCUS DAY. 

We're all of us kids, when it comes to the circus — 

Now don't you begin to protest — 
You needn't be claiming that you don't enjoy it. 

You're bound to line up with the rest; 
For, sure as you hear the calliope whistle, 

And see them come marching around, 
You'll look up some youngster to "take to the circus,'* 

And just help him laugh at the clown. 

The gallant is driving around with his sweetheart — 

And she in her prettiest dress — 
The farmer is leaving his grain and his cotton 

And hitching up Bonnie and Bess, 
While mother is leaving her work and her worries 

And taking the children to town 
To see the parade and to drink lemonade — 

And to laugh at the tricks of the clown. 

The doctor's forsaking his pills and his patients; 

The merchant's deserting his wares; 
The lawyer is closing the doors of his office ; 

Staid citizens leaving their cares. 
In willing response to the lure of the circus, 

The young and the old may be found. 
All munching their "goobers" and watching the wonders; 

And laughing with glee at the clown. 

We see all the beautiful ladies on horseback. 

The fine, handsome gentlemen, too; 
We help feed the elephants peanuts and candy 

And wander around through the zoo; 
The fierce lions roar and the wild tigers scream. 

While we shiver with joy at the sound; 
But oh, the delight when we're on the inside, 

Just to laugh at the jokes of the clovsai. 

We open our eyes and we stare with amazement 

At animals trained to perform; 
The hairbreadth escapes of the " death-daring-heroes*' 

We view with delicious alarm; 
We gaze in surprise while the acrobats tumble 

And never once fall to the ground — 
But at the same time we are keeping a lookout 

To see all the pranks of the clowTi. 

Page 74 



Yes, we are all kids when it comes to the circus — 

You needn't begin to protest — 
For if your blood's warm and your health fairly normal 

You're bound to line up with the rest. 
And as soon as you hear that calliope whistle 

You'll just begin looking around 
To find some bright youngster to "take to the circus" 

And help you to laugh at the clown. 



Page 76 



THE COLONEL. 



"Kindly tell me," asked the Stranger 

Of the Southern chevelier, 
"Why I find, throughout your section. 

Such a world of colonels here? 
Long above our land has hovered 

The benignant dove of peace. 
Yet your crop or doughty colonels 

Seems to steadily increase." 

"Well, suh," came the friendly answer, 

"Hit's a compliment we pay 
To the man who serves his country 

In most any sort of way; 
To the man of wealth or standing ; 

To the one who wants our vote; 
Our employer or our landlord 

Or the man who holds our note. 

"But, by rights," his voice grew chesty 
As he rolled his quid and spat, 

"An orig'nal, sho-nuff Colonel 

Has to wear a broad-brimmed hat; 

Has to be a jydge of liquor 
An' to know a fust-class hoss; 

Has to have the makin's in him 
Of a leader an' a boss. 

"Used to say he mustn't measure 

Less than fifty inches 'round 
An' six feet, or somewhere there'bouts. 

From his hat down to the ground; 
But you got to call him 'Colonel' 

An' you ain't no cause to laugh. 
If he ever has the honor 

To be on the Gov'nor's staff." 

Then his tone grew confidential 

As he tapped his hearer's knee: 
"Listen what I tell you, Colonel, 

Hit's just common courtesy. 
Why, a man without a title 

Might about as well be dead." 
"Thank you. Colonel," said the Stranger, 

"I'll remember what you've said." 



Page 76 



A BARNYARD TRAGEDY. 



**Now, Jane and Ruth," the mother said, 

"Run quickly to the chicken shed X 

And get a nice young hen for me; 

The preacher's going to stay for tea." 

**Oh, mother dear!" both daughters cried. 
Their eyes with horror opened wide, 
**We cannot kill a poor, dear hen. 
Why don't you send one of the men>" 

"What nonsense!" said the mother, stern, 
"It's surely time that you should learn. 
We'll have fried chicken, crisp and brown. 
And flaky biscuits, light as down." 

And so at last they caught the bird. 
Each heart with tender pity stirred. 
And laid its head across a block. 
In spite of each protesting squawk. 

"Now hold it, Jane," her sister said, 
"While I cut off the poor thing's head." 
Ruth raised the hatchet with a will. 
In hopes that one stout blow would kill; 

Each damsel turned away her face. 
The bloody sight thus to erase — 
One hasty stroke, one cry of pain, 
A mangled hand for sister Jane. 

Their brother Dick, behind the fence. 
Had watched the girls with glee immense; 
The victim's flight he now did check 
And deftly wrung its hapless neck. 



Page 77 



I 



A WARNING TO HUSBANDS. 



TTiey say they have had a most serious quarrel, 

Tom Norris and Mary, his wife; 
And all on account of a misguided man 

Who made the mistake of his life. 
That husbands may profit, I'll strive to relate 
What brought the good couple to this grievous state. 

Now, Tom had been always devoted and kind; 

His wife was attractive and gay. 
And so, just last Friday he planned a surprise 

Because it was Mary's birthday. 
He quietly asked in a few friends to dine 
And ordered the cook to prepare something fine. 

The guests were all warned that they must not divulge 

His plans for the happy event. 
He stopped at the florist's to order some flowers. 

As down to the office he went; 
For this was a gift she had learned to expect 
And knew that her husband would never neglect. 

The evening arrived and the home was a scene 

Of gaiety, laughter and fun; 
And Tom proudly gazed on his beautiful wife 

And chuckled o'er what he had done; 
For never was party a greater surprise — 
'Twas plain to be seen in his wife's happy eyes. 

More youthful and handsome than ever she seemed — 

To Mary the years had been kind — 
Nor would she have told her most intimate friend 

How many milestones were behind; 
For that is the one weighty secret, I'm told, 
That even a woman can faithfully hold. 

TTie dinner was served; 'twas a thorough success; 
But Tom was more clever than wise. 
His masculine mind had most fatally erred 
In planning the final surprise; 
For when to the grand birthday cake they all turned. 
Full fortj^-six candles thereon brightly burned. 



Page 78 



An* every day we gathered shells; 

We purchased curios'ties; 
We visited amusements, too, 

Saw sideshows an' monstros'ties ; 
We carried the children till our arms 

Seemed like they most was breakin' 
The older ones a-walkin' till 

Their legs was tired an' achin'; 
But we was out to have some fun 
An' nothin' could be left undone. 

Well, yesterday we come back home — 

The place sure looks invitin' — 
My wife's a-dabbin' on cold cream 

An' hummin' while I'm writin'; 
I hear the children in the yard 

A-laughin' as they play, 
An' all of us is mighty glad 

We've had our holiday; 
For, after all, vacation's best 
When you get home again to rest. 



Page 79 



RUNNIN' FOR OFFICE. 



They used to say that Jim was proud 
An' held his head too high; 

Some old-time friends of his allowed 
He often passed 'em by 

Without a "howdy" or ev'n a bow — 

But Jim's a-runnin' for office now. 

As he goes up an' down the streets 
His smile is broad an' bland; 

He speaks to ev'ry man he meets 
An' takes him by the hand; 

An' free an' friendly his greetin's flow— 

For Jim's a candidate now, you know. 

When voters come in from their farms 

He's full of fun and jokes; 
He takes the babies in his arms 

An' talks to all the folks. 
Jim's sho'ly altered a heap of late — 
Since he announced as a candidate. 

He's gettin' busier ev'ry day — 

Expects to win his race — 
An' I don't care what you-all say, 

I hope he'll git the place. 
An' I'm a-goin' to vote for him — 
'Cause politics is improvin' Jim. 



rage 80 



PICNIC JOYS. 

The happy summer time has come, 

The gladdest of the year. 
Of woodsy ways and picnic days 

To young and old so dear. 
Hid in the dank and fragrant grass 

The red bug lies in wait; 
TTie graceful lizard sallies forth 

And bodes a fearsome fate. 

TTie roaches, and the spiders, too. 

And eke the "pesky" flies. 
Invade the sandwiches at will 

And gambol o'er the pies; 
The bumble bee, with baleful buzz. 

Emerges from his lair; 
The ants, with tireless industry. 

Are swarming everywhere. 

The "skeeters" come on gladsome wing 
And chant a roundelay; 
The fireflies form a convoy band 
To light our homeward way; 
The bullfrogs boom a serenade 

As shadows lengthen fast. 
And evening marks the blissful close 
Of joys too sweet to last. 



Page 81 



'BOUT 'LECTION TIME. 



Drove in town last Saturday — 
Gee whiz! the roads was bad; 

Them pore ole mules they must stuck fast. 
An' what a rain we had! 

Got wet, but I don't care a cent, 

For I was mighty glad I went. 

It's fine to be so popular — 

Why, men was standing' 'round 

To welcome me an' shake my hand; 
An' pretty soon I found 

Myself a-laughin' at their jokes, 

With pockets overstocked with smokes. 

They asked about my brother Tom, 

An' also Pa and Ma; 
They said they thought that boy of mine 

The best they ever saw. 
As smart an' handsome as could be — 
An' then they 'lowed he looked like me. 

Of course they mentioned politics. 

Just in an off-hand way, 
Solicitin' my influence 

An' vote on 'lection day. 
An' handed me some cards to show — 
We pin 'em on the wall, you know. 

Eggs is a-fallin ev'ry day. 

An' butter's comin' down ; 
Seems like it doesn't hardly pay 

To take your stuff to town; 
But I'll go, even though it rains. 
For I sure like these here campaigns. 



Page 82 



UNAPPRECIATED. 



Seems to me there's some conditions 
In this world that need excuse; 

Things that blight a man's ambitions — 
Make him think there ain't no use. 

Just last month I wrote a story. 
Really clever, bright and clean. 

And, to win a little glory. 
Sent it to a magazine. 

"Your short story we return you," 
These unfeeling people wrote, 

"As our columns are reserved to 
Writers of established note." 

Now, suppose that Jennings Bryan 
Had been barred the pubHc stage 

Till he'd passed the time of tryin' 
An' his speeches were the rage. 

Think how great our country's losses 

Had the Roosevelts denied 
Ted's appeal to mount the "hosses" 

Till they knew he'd learned to ride. 

Then there's Dewey, why, we oughter 
Think who would have heard of him 

If he'd been forbid the water 
Until he could safely swim. 

Would Jim Riley be a poet. 

Or have reached his present fame. 

Or at least, would people know it 
Had they never seen his name? 

As I say, there's some conditions 
That are hard to understand. 

For a man that has ambitions 
Often needs a helping hand. 



Page 



THE PROGRESS OF PADDY McGEE. 



Dear Father and Mother in Ireland, I fear 
Your ould hearts are longin' some tidings to hear 
From your wand'rin' boy who for many a year 

Your eyes have been achin' to see; 
So now I'll be tellin' ye all of the news 
And if my long silence ye'll kindly excuse 
I niver again will your love so abuse, 

As sure as my name is McGee. 

My letther will give ye no end of surprise 
And cause my ould cronies to open their eyes ; 
And, faith, ye must tell them that if they would rise 

Just come to this Land of the Free; 
For instance, to show them the way I have thrived. 
Just say that when first on these shores I arrived 
A hod carrier's job to obtain I conthrived, 

And folks called me "Paddy McGee." 

'Twas but a few v/eeks of such laborin' when 
They put me in charge of a bunch of the men; 
Sure, I v/as a foreman, be jabers, and then 

Was commonly called "Pat McGee." 
And when, later on, I "consinted to run," 
And went into politics, just for the fun, 
They 'lected me aldherman, and iv'ryone 

Said: "There's Misther Pathrick McGee.' 

And then it was justice of peace I was made 
And all kinds of people respicts to me paid. 
While citizens gin'rally, of iv'ry shade. 

Addressed me: "Judge Pathrick McGee." 
At last my supporters, so active and sthrong, 
Said: "The Ligislature is where you belong;" 
So I was elected, and then said the throng: 

"That's Hon'rable Pathrick McGee!" 

We're livin', of course, on the fat of the land; 
Our friends are among the most noble and grand; 
The Prisident's proud to take us by the hand. 

My stylish wife Nora and me. 
So tell all my friends on the Emerald Isle 
To come to Ameriky — 'twill be worth while — - 
And sure they may be of a bow and a smile 

From Sinator Pathrick McGee. 



Page 84 



OUR FAMILY DOCTOR 



You may say what you please about doctors; 

You may criticise them if you will; 
We're told not to look for perfection 

In frail human nature, but still 
You'll admit there's one faultless physician alone, 
And among your good friends this example is known 
As Your Family Doctor. 

He may dose you with nasty decoctions; 

He may burn you with poultices hot; 
He may freeze you with cold applications, 

Starve out all the strength you have got 
And yet you submissively yield, even smile. 
As wanly you praise him to others, the while 
He's Your Family Doctor. 

He was called in to help my good neighbor, 

Who'd eaten some under-ripe fruit. 
'Twas raw turpentine that he gave her, 

With hot castor oil, sirs, to boot — 
But, when she could speak, she said, "Yes, Doctor Brown 
Is surely the finest physician in towTi. 
He's Our Family Doctor.*' 

One friend has acute rheumatism — 

He ached from his head to his feet — 
His doctor put him in an ice pack 

And then rolled him up in a sheet 
His widow laments her late husband, and yet. 
In singing his praises, she does not forget 
Their Family Doctor. 

You may talk about other folks' doctors. 

But, whether its powders or pills. 
Quinine and vile calomel capsules. 

Or old fashioned syrup of squills, 
We take what he gives, failing not to protest 
That He's head and shoulders above all the rest — 
Our Family Doctor. 



Page 85 



HIRAM SEES THE BIRDMAN. 



Oh, yes, it surely was a sight 
When that there ary-naut took flight. 
The day was calm, the sky was bright. 
An' everything appeared just right; 
An' there it stood, that great big kite. 
With both its sails rigged taut an' tight — 
Queer lookin' thing, but clean an' light. 

An' pow'rful strong. 
The ary-naut he climbed right in; 
They grabbed a rudder, long an' thin. 
Give it a twist, an 'such a din — 
Big wheel a-buzzin' 'round like sin ! 
An' pretty soon the thing begin 

To move along 
On three small wheels, a-gainin' speed. 
Then up went that velocipede. 

It was amazin', Mary Lou, 
I only wish I'd taken you 
An' 'Lizabeth an' Georgie Sue 
To see the way that birdman flew. 
I'm free to say I never knew 
Tliat any human born could do 
The antics that there man went thro* 

Up in the air! 
He soared into the sky, by jing. 
Then swooped and sailed 'round in a ring; 
He cut a reg'lar pigeon wing, 
An' then he danced the Highland fling; 
Turned somersaults an' everything, 

I do declare! 
It simply made my blood run cold 
To think a man could be so bold. 

Then, scoopin' downward gracefully. 
He come to earth as light an' free 
As any livin' thing could be, 
An' landed right in front of me 
An' Mason Long an' Tom Goree; 
So we all had a chance to see 
The whole dad-burned machinery 

An' how it ran; 
An' all the people on the ground 
Come runnin' up an' gathered 'round, 
Relieved to see him safe an' sound — 

That brave birdman. 
Of course 'twas fine, but I'll confess a 

I'd ruther ride behind ole Bess. 



Page 86 



HOW SI PROPOSED TO ME. 



(Written for a Recitation.) 

If any one had said that I would marry Silas Lee 

I'd just have laughed at them, although 'tis true he'd courted 

me 
Fer nigh two years, through rain and shine, a-comin' twice 

a week. 
And Sunday evenin's, from his home away up on the creek. 
His father had a first rate farm, and Si was doin* well; 
He'd had a bank account himself, folks said, fer quite a spell. 
My father thought that Silas Lee was just about all right. 
And Mother sang his praise to me from momin' until night. 

But Silas wasn't my ideal; he didn't suit at all; 

The man that I would marry must be handsome, straight 

and tall, 
With dark brov/n eyes, and coal black hair, just like a 

raven's wing; 
His deep, strong voice should thrill with power, and make 

my heart to sing; 
You see I'd read about that kind in lots of story books. 
And felt that when he came along I'd know him by his looks. 
And we should love, and we should wed, just as they 

always do. 
And live content through all our lives, to one another true. 

No, Silas didn't measure up to my ideal a bit. 

He'd growed to be 'bout five feet seven, and then right 

there he quit. 
His hair was red, his eyes were gray, his voice — not very 

clear — 
He had too many feet and hands when there were strangers 

near. 
But everybody said Si's heart was in the proper place; 
"You couldn't judge a man," they said, "by his figure nor 

his face," 
But still I don't believe that I'd have married Silas Lee 
If it hadn't been for just the way that he proposed to me. 

*Twas Wednesday night, and Si had come just on the stroke 

of eight — 
He never was too early, and he never came too late — 
My father sat before the fire, and I had my crochet; 
Si. he shook hands with Father and they passed the time 

o* day, 

Pag-e 87 



While I hung up his coat and hat and offered him a chair — 
And then, of course, I smoothed my dress and patted down 

my hair — 
And Mother came in for a minute an sez: *'Why, howdy, 

Si, 
I reckon that the rains has brought the creek up pretty high?'* 

Then Si and Father they discussed the weather and the crops. 
And wondered if the market price was goin* to raise or drop. 
TTiey touched on politics a bit, and Father had to 'low 
i hat we had ort to have a sane administration now. 
But somehow Silas didn't seem so much inclined to talk, 
Although I b'lieve he did remark he'd bought some feedin* 

stock. 
And finally Mother called, "Oh, Pa, I wish you'd please 

come here!" 
I understood — and so did Si — ^and pulled his chair up near. 

I edged away a little bit, and crocheted quick and fast — 
Somehow I knew from Silas' look his silence wouldn't last — 
'Twas plain that he was 'tryin' to bring his courage to the 

point ; 
He fidgeted upon his chair, cracked every finger joint — 
I got the album from the stand and tried to change his mind. 
But he looked at the pictures there just like a man that's blind. 
And once or twice he made remarks that didn't fit the case — 
It wan't no use, and so put the album in its place. 

And then I thought I'd better try the ster-e-op-ti-con ; 
We had a lot of views, but Si just couldn't fit them on; 
I tried my best to have him sit in just the proper light. 
But Silas couldn't seem to get them pictures focused right; 
And so at last I gave it up and went back to my seat, 
And Silas heaved a great big sigh and looked down at his 

feet. 
He kept a clearin* out his throat, just like his voice was thick. 
And then he grabbed a piece of pine and whittled on a stick. 

And every now and then he'd bring his chair a little nigher. 
And then I'd get right up and go to stirrin' at the fire; 
My hoop kep' droppin' stitches; — it would have to all 

come out — 
And how the whittlin*s from that stick was gettin* strewn 

about ! 
But finally he seemed to make the effort of his life; 
He hitched his chair up close and sez: "Sue, won't you 

be my w-i-f-e?" 

Pagre 88 



And I sez, "No, sir!" just like that, and pulled away my 

chair, 
And Silas gazed into the fire and sat and brooded there. 

Then I crocheted as fast's I could — I made that hook just 

fly— . 

And nothin' more was said until a half an hour went by. 
Then Silas started edgin' up, and then he took my hand. 
And — well, I let him hold it — ^pityin' him, you understand. 
And pretty soon he sez, sez he, "You know I love you, Sue, 
Say, won't you have me, girl, I'll sure be mighty good to 

you?" 
But I sez: "No, sir," just like that, and drew my hand 

away, 
And went to workin' hard and fast on that there old crochet. 

Then Silas sat for quite a spell and didn't say a word; 
Me threw his stick into the fire and never even stirred 
Till suddenly he put his arm right square around my waist 
And sez: "Now, see here, Susan Brown, just look me in 

the face. 
I'm askin' you once more," he sez, "jest one time more, 

and then 
If you say 'No' I promise you I'll never ask again. 
Now, WILL YOU HAVE ME, Susan Brown?" And I 

was so upset 
I answered, "Yes, sir," just like that, and — well, IVe got 

him yet. 



Page 89 



JOHNNY AND THE MINISTRY. 



My folks is Methodists, an* so 
When conference comes our way, you know, 
Or some convention is in town 
That brings a lot of preachers 'round. 
Why, Mother opens wide the door 
An* entertains a few — or more — 
Of preachers. 

Gee, don*t I like to see 'em come? 
I tell you what, we're goin' some 
When we have chicken twice a day. 
An' fruit that Mother's put away 
Fer winter — ^jam an' preserves — 
She sure gets reckless when she serves 
The preachers. 

An' I can't help a-thinkin' — Well, 
When I set there an' hear 'em tell 
About the boys they used to be, 
Just little chaps like Joe an' me, 
An' had to milk, an' chop the wood — 
That they must find it mighty good, 
Bein' preachers. 

An' then they sometimes want to know 
Ef I don't think I'd like to go 
To Afriky as soon's I can 
An' help to save my fellowman; 
But I don't 'psress no special haste, 
Fer cann'bals has an awful taste 
Fer preachers. 

I'd whole lot ruther, when I'm grown. 
Jest be a preacher here at home. 
There's drawbacks even then, of course. 
Some things is better, an' some worse. 
But when they go a-visitin', why, 
TTiere's alius chicken an' pumpkin pie 
Fer preachers. 



Paffe 90 



foftna 
of 



THE CALL OF THE SOUTH. 



There's a charm all its own in the Southland; 

There's a message that speaks without words 
In the gentle caress of the sunshine 

And the pure, lilting notes of the birds; 
In the flowers that bloom so profusely, 

.And the moonlight, so witchingly bright. 
That wooes with a sweetness insistent. 

And lulls with a sense of delight. 

There is friendship and trust in the Southland; 

There are hearts that beat loyal and true. 
With a sympathy helpful and human 

TTiat is ready to reach out to you; 
All the hours are not wasted in striving 

After glittering baubles and toys, 
But a broader conception is given 

To life and its limitless joys. 

TTiere's a vastness and breadth in the Southland, 

That allures with its promises wide; 
There are memories hallowed and tender 

That awaken the patriot's pride; 
There's something elusive yet potent 

That inspires to the heights yet unsealed 
And that whispers a message of courage 

To the brother who thinks he has failed. 

Yes, a wonderful charm has the Southland, 

With her murmuring, moss-laden trees. 
Where the fragrant magnolia and jasmine 

Lend their perfume to each passing breeze; 
Where the broad fields of grain and of cotton, 

A.nd the calm, browsing herds as they roam. 
All unite in a summons compelling 

To the land of contentment and Home. 



I 



I 



Page 



A TRIBUTE TO FATHER. 



All honor to mothers the wide country o*er; 
Their virtues have been and will be evermore 

Recounted in poem and song; 
But somehow it seems that it's no more than fair 
To render a tribute of praise here and there 

To father as we go along. 

As mem'ry turns backward the tide of the years 
The kind, cheery face of our father appears; 

The home-coming welcome at night; 
The stories, the romping, the frolicsome play 
That ended the varying scenes of the day 

In one blissful blur of delight. 

The father who never was fretful or cross. 
Who never reflected a care or a loss 

By words that were harsh or unkind ; 
But loyally shouldered his burdens and cares, 
Nor troubled the home v/ith perplexing affairs. 

Though heavy they weighed on his mind. 

AX'Tio shared our ambitions, as well as our joys, 
With fatherly pride as his girls and his boys 

To manhood and womanhood grew; 
Who willingly labored and planned and advised. 
That they might be granted the honors they prized 

And do what they wanted to do. 

Ah, well may our fathers be counted among 
The numberless thousands of heroes unsung. 

Whose merits we oft fail to see; 
But here's to the playmate, protector and guide 
Who loyally stands by our dear mother's side 

And labors for you and for me. 



Page 94 



THE THREE KEYS. 



If the way seems rough or crooked. 

And your life all out of gear, 
Don't despair nor get discouraged; 

Don't give up to doubt and fear. 
There are three keys to contentment — 

One of these you must possess — 
Each will lock the door 'gainst sorrow; 

Open it to happiness. 

First of all in magic power. 

And in easy reach of you. 
Is the key — perchance 'tis homely — 

That is called "Something to do." 
Grasp it, friend, and use it quickly. 

For 'twill help you to forget 
All the failures, trials, heartaches. 

That your pathway have beset. 

Next we have a key vouchsafed us 

By the kindly Power above 
That is one of matchless beauty, 

And 'tis called "Something to love.** 
Learn to know its priceless value; 

Treasure it as if 'twere gold; 
For 'tis worth the wealth of Indus 

And will yield you joys untold. 

Last in line, but ever near us. 

While the light of life doth burn, 
Is the key "Something to hope for," 

And tho' aching hearts may yearn 
Fruitlessly for vanished blessings, 

Thro' the opened door appear 
Hopeful visions of the future. 

Growing brighter year by year. 



Page 95 



MY HOME IN TENNESSEE. 



There came a letter from a friend 

In far-off Tennessee. 
And as I read it o'er it brought 
My old home back to me; 
The friends I knew, 
The hearts so true, 
In dear old Tennessee. 
It told me of the girl I loved 

In happy days gone by. 
And at her name there somehow came 
A tear into my eye; 
A tribute paid 
To that sweet maid 
I loved in days gone by. 

Full two score years of storm and shine 

Have passed since last we met; 
We both have wed and youth has fled. 
Yet can I ne'er forget 
Her face so fair, 
Her flowing hair, 
The place where first we met. 

And as I sit beside the hearth 

With her I now love best. 

The wife whose face is turned with mine 

Toward the golden West, 

She clasps my hands 

And understands — 

This comrade I love best. 

She knows 'tis but the news from home 

In distant Tennessee, 
That brings the scenes of other days 
So clearly back to me; 
My happy home, 
My boyhood home 
In dear old Tennessee. 



Page 



THE CACTUS. 



A rude, uncouth, unsightly thing. 
With prickly coat and sharpest sting. 
Grew on an arid mountain side 
And sought among the rocks to hide 
As trav'lers passed it by. 

One day a wondrous thing befell; 
A gorgeous bloom burst from it's shell; 
A bright, bewitching, radiant flower. 
Like some fair goddess in her bower. 
Admired of every eye. 

So, many a rough and awkard form 
Conceals a heart that's vtrue and warm. 
And some day from it's house of clay 
A beauteous soul shall soar away 
To bloom in realms on high. 



Page 97 



JUDGE NOT. 

*'Man judgeth by the outward form,** 
But God doth read the heart. 

He sees the motive for each deed; 
We can but know in part, 

And what we most may criticize 

May have its merit in His eyes. 

Where we are prone to see the Mnx)ng, 

He notes each act of grace: 
TTie helping hand, the kindly kiss 

Upon an aged face; 
All these He weighs upon the scales. 
Where our near-sighted judgment fails. 

We know not all that lies behind 
The thing that we condemn; 

His eyes alone can pierce the veil 
And read the thoughts of men; 

He hold the balance in His hands 

And, knowing all. He understands. 

Then "Jutlge not, that ye be not judged.* 

'Tis only God can see 
The gold that lies 'neath seeming dross; 

The soul that's you — and me; 
Nor dare assume a power divine, 
For judgment is not yours — nor mine. 



Page 98 



AS WE FORGIVE. 



Two earthbom pilgrims stood without 

The gates of Paradise, 
And one with confidence drew near 
And spake in accents firm and clear; 
**Oh, Keeper of the heavenly gate, 
It is not meet that I should wait 

Unwelcomed here; 
For while I yet on earth did dwell 
I sought to do my duty well; 
I trod the straight and narrow way 
Unfaltering from day to day, 
My only thought to save m.y soul ; 
To reach at last the eternal goal 

And win the promised prize." 

The other pilgrim bowed his head 

And spoke in humble tone; 
**An erring soul I stand confessed. 
For every law have I trangressed. 
My earthly life was full of sin; 
No right have I to enter in, 

No hope of rest. 
I do not for myself beseech. 
But that thy kindly grace may reach 
To one whom I have sought to aid; 
Who now approacheth, sore afraid; 
To one who wronged m.e grievously, 
WTiom I forgave — I pray that he 

Thy mercy may be shown." 

TTien to the first the Keeper said 

In solemn voice and grave: 
"Full selfish, friend, hath been thy aim, 
A crown to win, a prize to gain. 
Hads't thou but sought some load to share 
TTiou would'st have worthier been to bear 

Thy Master's name. 
But thou, " — he to the other turned — 
"Tho* wronged, hast o'er thy brother yearned; 
Tho' failing oft, thou yet hast tried. 
And now for thee the gates swing wide. 
Thro' endless years thy soul shall live. 
Forgiven as thou did'st forgive. 

For Love alone can save." 



Page 99 



THE UPLOOK. 



Are you ever o'ertaken with moods, dark moods. 

When life seems a bootless affair. 
And your path seems to lead thro' the lonely woods, 

With shadows and gloom everywhere; 
And when, looking back o'er each weary mile. 
You wonder if really it's all worth while? 

Do you know what to do when these moods take hold? 

Find some one who's worse off than you; 
Reach a kind, friendly hand to make light his load. 

And see how much good it will do; 
And then, if your outlook should still seem drear. 
Why, just try the Uplook — Hope's star shines clear. 



Pag-e 100 



FORGET IT. 

A fine thing to have is a good memory, 

But you need a forgettery, too; 
For some things there are it were best to forget 
And put them forever from \{ew. 

For instance, the harsh, hasty word of a friend; 

The real, or the oft fancied, slight; 
The sneer or the taunt of an unworthy foe; 

The sorrow that threatens to blight. 

Mistakes that have taught us their lesson full well; 

The stumblings that bruised us full sore; 
TTie failures that bring but a bitter regret — 

Forget them, nor dwell on them more. 

But cheerfully face each tomorrow that dawns, 

A new page unsullied and fair, 
And leaving the past, with a hand firm and bold 

Inscribe an unstained record there. 



Page 101 



AT EVENTIDE. 



The evening sunbeams falling 
Athwart a quaint old town 

Touch softly with their radiance 
An aged head bowed down, 

And linger 'mid the tresses 
Of silver hair, once brown. 

How thin those withered fingers. 
How worn the gentle face 

Now bending o'er her Bible, 
Its promises to trace; 

And ah, how sadly drooping 
That form, once full of grace. 

'Tis but a comm^on picture 
On which the sun's rays fall. 

The story of a lifetime 
It plainly tells to all; 

The journey almost ended 
As evening shadows fall. 

Oh, speak unto them gently. 
These pilgrims weak and old; 

Support their trembling footsteps; 
Their feeble hands uphold; 

They've borne a world of trouble. 
Of care and grief untold. 

For you and me they've labored 
Through many a weary day; 

So let us do our duty 

While still with us they stay. 

Alas, the time is fleeting 
'Ere they must go away. 



Pag-e 102 



RAINLESS. 

The roses droop their listless heads. 

The grass is dry and sear. 
The trees with dust are laden down. 
The earth is hot and parched and brown. 

Midsummer time is here. 

The cattle on the ranges raise 

Meek faces unto heaven. 
And mutely supplicate for rain 
As scorching winds sweep o'er the plain, 

By tropic currents driven. 

Within the cities' close confines 
The sweltering millions pray 
For just one breath of cooling air 
That they the fearful heat may bear 
Till ends the torrid day. 

Then when the wings of darkness fall. 

Out through the gathering night 
Full many thousands seek for rest. 
And in the parks, on Nature's breast. 
Recline till morning's light. 

But ah, the piteous plight of those 

Denied e'en this sweet boon 
Who, sweltering in their narrow homes. 
Can only pray, with stifled moans. 
Oh rain! come soon, some soon. 



Pagre 103 



AUTUMN LEAVES. 



"Why are you sad," the autumn leaves murmured. 

As gladly they fluttered down, 
"Sigh not for us, though hustled and hurried 

And strewn o'er the meadows brown; 
For down in the hollows and under the snowdrifts. 

All nestled so snug and warm, 
Dame Nature is using her own kindly magic 

To give us another form. 
And in the glad summer you'll see us again. 
For we shall be beautiful flowers then. 



Pagre 104 



OF SUCH IS THE KINGDOM OF HEAVEN. 



O'er head the leaden clouds hang low, 

The air is biting chill; 
In swirling gusts the fierce winds blow 
The blinding sheets of sleet and snow 

Now here, now there, at will. 

Outside, each swiftly hurrying form 

Bends to the wintry blast. 
And closer draws his wrappings warm 
To seek protection from the storm 

That 'round him rages fast. 

Indoors, we find our heart's desire; 

The home so warm and bright; 
While gathered 'round the glowing fire 
The children watch the flames mount higher 

And laugh in their delight. 

But somewhere, alas, in numbers untold. 

There are children exposed to the sting of the cold, 

'Neath the pitiless winter sky; 
Children so needful of kindness and care. 
Of clothing and shelter and nourishing fare; 

We know — and we wonder WHY? 



Pagre 105 



THE JOY OF SERVICE. 



If I can reach a helping hand 

And make some weaker brother stand, 

*Twere worth the while to live. 
If I can make some sad life bright. 
Or render some one's burden light, 

TTien were it sweet to give. 

For thus in giving I shall grow. 
And blessedness in truth shall know. 

In spite of loss or pain; 
And in a life of service find 
A purer joy and peace of mind 

Than elsewise could I gain. 



Pag-e 106 



THE PLAINT OF THE AUTUMN WIND. 



There's a lingering cadence of sorrow 

In the eerie, low wail of the wind; 
A prescience of mourning tomorrow. 

When summer shall linger behind; 
When a sweet, haunting mem'ry alone shall remain 
'Til the season of flowers shall come once again. 

The children's gay tones softly mingle 

With the minor refrain of the breeze ; 
While down in the dell and the dingle 

Come drifting the leaves from the trees; 
And already the birds and their nestlings have flown 
To a clime where rude Boreas' blasts are unknown. 

The purple-tinged air seems to quiver 
As Nature draws 'round her a veil, 
And up from the woods and the river 
Again comes that low, eerie wail. 
As if in the voice of the winds weird and v^Id 
The Mother of Seasons laments her fair child. 

Like Eolian harps softly stirring. 

To re-echo the plaint of the wind, 
Oiir hearts to the past are recurring 

With thoughts of fair hopes left behind. 
And ever we sigh for the dreams that are past. 
Now shattered like autumn leaves torn by the blast. 



Paffe 107 



IN MEMORY. 



So far away, so far away, 

My heart is filled with grief today; 

For on a distant, green hillside, 

A lonely little mound I see. 
And wonder will some gentle hand 

Strew flowers on her grave for me. 

My thoughts turn ever to the past. 
And sad regrets crowd thick and fast; 
Once more I see my darling's face. 

The music of her voice I hear — 
Her many little winsome ways — 

My precious child, so sweet, so dear. 

In days gone by I oft did trace 
My footsteps to her resting place; 
But now, alas, I only pray 

That some kind heart may prompted be 
To place a bunch of fragrant flowers 

Upon my darling's grave for me. 



Page 108 



REFLECTIONS OF A BENEDICT. 



In my parlor, warm and cozy. 

By the firelight, soft and rosy, 
I am dreaming of the days now passed away; 

And my thoughts are ever wending, 

In a retrospect unending. 
To the time when I was happy, young and gay. 

Fond mammas upon me smiling. 

Pretty girls the time beguiling, 
All my days so free from ill or sordid care; 

With the prospect bright appearing. 

Of the future nothing fearing, 
Ever building gorgeous castles in the air. 

And my dear old chum, now wedded. 

Grown so portly and gray-headed, 
I can see him as we sat within our den, 

Reading, talking, laughing, joking. 

And so comfortably smoking — 
Ah, those happy days will ne'er return again. 

But my truant thoughts returning. 

Find the fire still brightly burning. 
And my wife sits near and gently smiles at me; 

While she's kissing and caressing 

Just the dearest little blessing 
That a mother ever held upon her knee. 

And would I exchange these treasures, 

All the dear, domestic pleasures. 
For the bygone days of single blessedness? 

No; with all its cares and crosses. 

Even midst its griefs and losses, 
'Tis the home life I would choose, I must confess. 



Page 109 



THE CASKET OF MEMORIES. 



Did you ever stop to ponder as you go 

Through the world, so full of glitter and of show, 

TTiat you*re laying up in store, 

For the years that are before. 
Countless memories of gladness or of woe? 

For the mem*ry casket you and I must fill 
Oftentimes the power is ours to choose at will; 

And no matter what it be. 

We are bound some day to see 
All that we have stored away of good or ill. 

Many priceless recollections will be found, 

Memories of home and loved ones gathered *round; 

Dreams of friendship and of youth, 

Full of happiness and truth. 
And with kindly deeds it likewise should abound. 

But into this chest, alas, betimes there creep 

Some unsightly things we would not wish to keep; 

Thoughts, perchance, of darker days. 

Slighted duties, erring ways — 
Ah, we fain would have these bitter mem'ries sleep. 

Since they will not, let us then with thoughtful care. 
Wisely choose, whene*er we may, what shall be there; 

For we cannot keep them hid; 

There*s no key will hold the lid 
On the mem'ries that confront us everjrwhere. 



Page 110 



DUALITY. 

There are two of me; are there two of you? 
One self that loves the pure and true. 
With high resolves and aims in view, 

And steadfast mind. 
The other, in temptation's fire, 
Yields weakly to perverse desire 
For things of earth, and looks no higher. 

Life's joys to find. 

The one, the noble self of mine. 
Craves earnestly my light may shine, 
Reflecting truth and love divine 

In helpful deeds; 
And still the wayward soul of me 
Doth wander blindly, heedlessly. 
Neglecting oftentimes to see 

Another's needs. 

There are two of me; there are two of you; 
The one is false, the other true; 
Contending, all the journey thro'. 

For right or wrong; 
And though the still, small voice be drowned 
Sometimes in earth-self's clamorous sound. 
Yet may our better selves be found 

Steadfast and strong. 



Page 111 



OUR MUTUAL NEED. 



"For no man liveth unto himself — " 

Our natures have decreed 
That on each other we must depend; 
From some receiving, to others lend ; 
Relying oft on a stronger friend 

For what we most may need. 

"And no man dieth unto himself," 

For after him shall live 
The good which he has accomplished here; 
The kindly counsel, the word of cheer; 
Then let us frankly, without a fear. 

Reach out for help — and give. 



Pag-e 112 



TO HIM THAT OVERCOMETH/' 



**To him that overcometh a crown of life shall be," 

Of purest gold. 
And through eternal ages a psalm of victory 

And joy untold. 

"To him that overcometh — " But ah, life's joys are sweet 

As siren's song. 
And all along my journey, in flowery paths I meet 

Temptations strong. 

'*To him that overcometh" — Alas, the way is rough 

And dark v^thal; 
And for the rocky places my strength is not enough; 

Full oft I fall. 

**To him that overcometh — " We can but face our foes 

And do our best; 
Then, when the fight is over, say fearlessly, '*He knows," 

And sink to rest. 



Page 113 



DONT. 

If an impulse comes to say 
Some unthoughted word today 
That may drive a friend away. 
Don't say it. 

If youVe heard a word of blame 
Cast upon your neighbor's name 
That may injure his fair fame. 
Don't tell it. 

If malicious gossip's tongue 
Some vile slander may have flung 
On the head of old or young. 
Don't repeat it. 

Even if the story's true. 
Think of all the harm 'twould do ; 
How much better, then, if you 
Don't rehearse it. 

Thoughtful, kindly, helpful speech, 
'Tis a gift vouchsafed to each — 
TTiis the lesson we would teach : 
Don't abuse it. 



Page 114 



REGENERATE. 



Down thro' the dark'ning valley passed my soul 
As close I neared the vast, eternal goal 

That waits for humankind; 
And in my weary heart I cried, "Alas, 
It matters not if I should stay, or pass 

From ken of finite mind!" 

For, bitterer than the fear of death, I knew 
That I had sown the pathway journeyed thro* 

With many thorns and briers; 
And that a craven weakling I had proved 
Unable to o'ercome with strength unmoved 

Temptation's crucial fires. 

My aching eyes with tears were burning wet. 
As I recalled, with poignant, keen regret 

How sadly I had failed; 
And how, when earnestly I should have tried 
The voice of conscience had been thrust aside; 

The inner light had paled. 

**It matters not," I sighed, "why cumber earth 
With my poor life; for 'tis of little worth 

Unto my fellowman," 
And closed my eyes, and drifted into space 
Content a worthier one should take my place 

In God's eternal plan. 

Then came One gently, and He took my hand 
And said, "My child, 'tis thej?^ who understand 

The pitfalls in the way. 
Who best can guide the wanderer's faltering feet, 
Come back to earth, thy task is not complete; 

'Tis but another day. 



Pag-e 115 



THE BLIGHTED ROSE. 



A Rose, blooming close by a frequented way. 

Held proudly her graceful head high; 
But gave out no perfume, till one cruel day 
Her petals were shattered, her beauty was scarred. 
Her velvety softness was hopelessly marred 
By winds that passed ruthlessly by. 

And then, as in sorrow she hung her head low. 

She heeded the flow'rs at her feet; 
And travelers paused, as they passed to and fro. 
To breathe in the fragrance again and again 
That came from her crushed heart, a-quiver with pain. 
Yet filled with an essence so sweet. 

The lowly ones whispered their thoughts in her ear. 

And these by her counsel were blessed; 
The tiny buds clung to her leaves without fear. 
But eh, life was fleeting; the wind had been rough; 
The Master said softly one day, *"Tis enough," 
And gathered her into his breast. 



Page 116 



A PAEAN TO THE DEAD. 



Nature's forces, grim, tyrannic, 

Have subdued the proud Titanic, 
And she cowers 'neath the cruel, icy waves; 

But no power in earth or heaven 

Could overcome the courage given 
To the heroes who went down to early graves. 

Spartan-like, they stood undaunted. 
While above the iceberg flaunted 
Threat'ning clouds of dashing foam and chilling spray; 

Fearlessly they toiled, nor reckoned 

Of the awful fate that beckoned. 
As they helped the last frail lifeboat launch away. 

While the giant vessel's throbbing 

Mingled with the women's sobbing 
And the menace of the billiows' sullen roar; 

Heedless of their wives' beseeching. 

Of their children's arms outsretching. 
Bade farewell to love and life forevermore. 

And at last, without a quiver. 

While the timbers creak and shiver. 
With the mighty hulk they to the depths descend; 

Yet their triumph, through the ages. 

Shall be sung by bards and sages 
In a requiem that nevermore shall end. 



Page 117 



THE OLD TOWN CLOCK. 



(Suggested by burning: of county courthouse at Cleburne, Texas. 
April 14, 1912). 

The old court house was burned last night — 
We mourn the sad atfair — 

And groups of folk gaze on the sight, 

A-standin' round the square. 
The fire and its tragedy gave us a shock. 
But oh, how we're missing The Old Town Clock. 

It told us when to go to work; 

It told us when to quit; 
And many a lad disposed to shirk. 
Full often gazed at it — 
Wherever you go you can hear people talk. 
Bewailing the loss of The Old Town Clock. 

The children, as they come and go, 

Still look up for the tower. 
And grown folk, too, although they know 
It*s tolled its final hour; 
While people forget as they drive 'round the block 
And anxiously look for The Old Town Clock. 

The guide of young and old alike. 
How many a fond sweetheart 

In courting days has hear it strike 

The dreaded hour to part; 
When father the doors and the windows must lock. 
Obeying the voice of The Old Town Clock. 

It sounded with the wedding bells. 

When all the world seemed young. 
And oft, alas, with funeral knells. 
When hearts with grief were wrung; 
And church-going folk to the service would flock. 
When rang out the call of The Old Town Clock. 

And somehow it occurred to me. 

In philosophic way. 
To wonder if our lives might be 
So lived from day to day 
That w^hen we shall hear the last messenger knock. 
They'll miss us as much as The Old Tovsti Clock. 



Page 118 



A WINTER REVERIE. 



I sit by my window musing 
As the snowflakes softly fall, 

Enshrouding the world of nature 
In a beautiful, snowy pall. 

I can but think, as I watch them. 
Of my own sad, bitter life. 

So full of sorrow and heartache, 
Full of woe and inward strife; 

Of bitter disappointments 

Of bright hopes passed away. 

Of happy prospects fallen. 
As the snowflakes fall today; 

My future so gloomy and barren. 
Like fields all covered with snow. 

And I sigh for the vanished brightness 
And the hopes of long ago. 



But lo ! the sun breaks thro' a cloud 
And the beautiful, snowy pall. 

Speaks now to me of love divine. 
Like a mantle enfolding all. 



Page 119 



litBrtUawfnua 



THE VIGIL. 

(A True Story) 

Sunset cast its parting splendor. 

Like a mantle tinged with gold. 
O'er a quiet southern village. 

And a woman, stooped and old; 
Plodding toward the railway station. 

As she'd done for many a day. 
Bearing on her arm a basket. 

In her hand a quaint bouquet. 

Just a feeble, white-haired mother. 

Who had learned what sorrow means 
When her only boy departed 

For the distant Philippines. 
She had urged, with fond insistence. 

Ere the train bore him away. 
That he take a well filled basket 

And a fragrant, sweet bouquet. 

Time passed by and then came tidings 

That his company would pass thro* 
To be mustered out of service — 

More than this no truth she knew; 
And she hummed a song of gladness. 

Nor forgot to softly pray. 
As she filled a generous basket 

And arranged a fair bouquet. 

At the train his comrades gently 

Told her how her noble son 
On the battlefield had fallen. 

Just as they had fairly won; 
Then, with face all set and stony. 

And with lips turned ashen gray. 
She had dropped the useless basket 

And the vainly plucked bouquet. 

But her loving heart was broken, 

And a cloud in mercy spread 
O'er the mind once bright and active; 

While to pitying friends she said. 
Everyday: "My boy is coming. 

Yes, this very night he may; 
So I'll just fill up his basket. 

And I'll take him a boquet." 



Page 123 



Thus each eve for years she wandered 

To the station by the track; 
Till at last. Oh, joy unuttered! 

Came a wayworn traveler back; 
Told his story; kissed the shadows 

From his mother's brow that day. 
As he carried home the basket 

And the tender, rare bouquet. 



Page 124 



THE SUNSHINE LEAGUE. 



My friend, have you joined the Sunshine League? 

We're anxious to have your name ; 
And if you remain outside the shrine 

You've only yourself to blame. 
TTie qualifications you must have 

Should certainly be no ban; 
They are simply these: a kindly heart 

And love for your fellow-man. 

But lest you're in doubt I'll now divulge 

A part of our secrets here. 
The signal of recognition is 

A smile and a word of cheer; 
The sign of distress we never use. 

Because it can have no place. 
But never refuse to aid distress 

When read in another's face. 

The permanent password is "Love," and this 

Will open the outer door; 
TTie grip of our order, a warm handclasp. 

Will courage and hope restore. 
TTie dues that the Sunshine League exacts 

Are something that all can pay : 
From each of our members the rules require 

Just one kindly word each day. 

Cur order's in session continuously; 

The world is our temple home; 
We find it no task to initiate. 

No matter where you may roam; 
So give us your name for the Sunshine League — 

A fee you need not advance — 
Just keep up your dues, and lend a hand 

Whenever you get a chance. 



Page 125 



HEROES ARE ALWAYS DEAD. 



They thought that he had died, and men 
Wrote glowing eulogies, and then. 

E'en while his name was rife 
Upon men's tongues, the theme of song. 
It proved the story had been wrong. 

For he returned to life. 

They know that he still lives, and now 
No more they tell the tale of how 

He risked his life to save 
His comrades from a cruel fate. 
And, courting danger 'til too late, 

Had found a hero's grave. 

Yet favored was this man, for he 
Was privileged on earth to see 

The things that men had said; 
And now he knows, as day by day 
He goes his unassuming way, 

'Heroes are always dead." 



Page 126 



THE SWEET GIRL GRADUATE. 



(Poetic paraphrase of editorial by J. H. L.) 

Admirers are thronging 

And poets are longing 
To honor the girl graduate; 

The purest and sweetest, 

TTie fairest and neatest, 
That e'er approached woman's estate. 

Her step is the lightest; 

Her face is the brightest; 
There's heaven itself in her smile. 

All creatures adore her; 

Fond swains bow before her 
And flowers strew her pathway the while. 

We hear her heart beating 

As, softly repeating 
Her essay, she meets our proud gaze. 

TTie gown so entrancing, 

Her beauty enhancing. 
Is worthy a connoisseur's praise. 

Ah, queen of the hour. 

We yield to thy power 
And loyally kneel at thy shrine. 

May Heaven defend you; 

May Fortune attend you. 
And all of life's blessings be thine. 



Page 127 



THE BOY WHO GRADUATES. 



We talk of the **sweet girl graduate** 
In these Commencement Days, 

And bowing in homage unite to sing 

The happy maiden*s praise; 
But here's to the boy who stands by her side. 
His clear eyes alight with a manly pride. 

I sing to the brave boy graduate, 

TTie lad with pluck and grit. 
Who turned not aside to left or right, 
But firmly stuck to it. 
In spite of temptations or boyish fun. 
And finished the knotty curriculum. 

Yes, here's to the brave boy graduate, ] 

Who one time may have failed — j 

For what are our schoolday ups and downs i 

When once the heights are scaled? — 
Who, e'en tho' he stumbled just now and then. 
Was ready and willing to try again. 

A toast to the brave boy graduate, 

TTie whole wnde country o'er. 
Who enters now, with eager face. 
The world's wide schoolroom door; 
And as he now leaves childish tasks behind. 
Thro' life may he solve all the problems assigned. 



Page 128 



THE EGOTIST. 



In street and in store and in office 

We're meeting him day after day — 

The man who seems thoroughly selfish. 
Who cares only for his own way; 

TTie man whose surroundings, horizon and sky 

Are wholly obscured by a capital "I." 

He sees not the virtues of others; 

He scorns the goodwill of his kind; 
Self-centered, he measures his fellows 

By limits of his narrow mind; 
And chances for happiness daily pass by. 
Obscured by that looming, ubiquitous *'I.*' 

No pity for others' misfortunes; 

Absorbed in his own selfish pride. 
He sneers at his brothers' successes. 

Complacent and self-satisfied; 
For sympathies human and sentiments high 
Are wholly eclipsed by that ponderous *'!.'* 

TTius wrapped in his own egotism 

He lives on from day unto day. 
And slowly, but none the less surely. 

His better self dwindles away, 
'Til haply he'll find, when his time comes to die. 
Between him and heaven the shadow of "I." 



Page 129 



A HEROINE OF THE PRAIRIE. 
OR 
THE RANGER'S STORY. 



'Twas away back in the Seventies 
That in camps both far and wide 

From the Cimarron to the Brazos 
You could hear of Kimball's bride; 

Of her beauty, of her daring. 
Of her brave, heroic ride. 

We were traveling to the northward 

With a herd six thousand strong; 
Our camp manager was married 

And he had his wife along. 
She was handsome, brave and fearless. 

Quick of wit and keen of eye; 
One to act in time of trouble. 

Not the kind to faint or cry. 

One day, as luck would have it. 

We all chanced to be away. 
Leaving her with no companion. 

All alone in camp to stay; 
And, as standing in the doorway 

O'er the plain she cast her eye. 
She could see the herd of cattle 

Grazing quietly near by. 

But while she looks a sudden change 

Comes o'er the peaceful scene; 
All in a moment, but too well 

She knows what it may mean; 
A few have started from the herd. 

And, following in their lead. 
The rest are dashing wildly off 

On a maddening stampede. 

They are heading to the southward 

And she knows 'tis certain death 
To any who are in their track — 

And she looks with bated breath; 
For yonder in the distance, 

A white spot 'gainst the green. 
The shady, wide sombrero 

Of a cowboy may be seen. 



Page 130 



Straight ahead the herd is moving — 

He is right within their track! 
It is madness to go forward; 

It is useless to turn back. 
There is no way to escape them; 

He has no horse at command. 
And he stands appalled, bewildered. 

Seeing death so close at hand. 

But the woman sees it also; 

Knows that soon he must be lost; 
And resolves that she will save him, 

Make the trial at any cost. 
Quick she mounts her swiftest pony 

And, the rushing herd beside. 
Steadily she gains upon them 

In that fearless, headlong ride. 

Rank by rank she leaves behind her, 

'Till the foremost has been passed; 
Then in front of them she dashes. 

Not a look around her cast. 
Well she knows her own great danger. 

Knows that if her horse should fall 
Cruel hoofs would trample o'er her, 

Crush out life beyond recall. 

Now the man has seen her coming 

And a hope within him springs. 
Quick he rushes on to meet her — 

Hope and fear have lent him wings. 
Nearer yet she comes, and nearer. 

But she does not slacken speed; 
Onward with unflagging courage 

Comes the panting, foaming steed. 

At last she overtakes him — 

And the herd is very near — 
Then stoops and lifts him quickly. 

With a strength born of her fear; 
And thus they ride together 

'Till the danger all is past; 
The fearless race is over 

And the herder saved at last. 



Page 131 



And this is why, to cowboys 

On the plains, both far and near. 

Away back in the Seventies, 
Her name was ever dear; 

And we speak of Anna Kimball 
As you speak of Paul Revere. 



Page 132 



I 



THE ORPHAN'S EASTER. 



Within a churchyard, all alone. 

One gladsome Easter day, 
A child bent o'er a new made grave 

And sobbed his heart away. 

The flowers were peeping shyly forth. 
The birds were warbling near. 

And all around the wak'ning earth 
Proclaimed that Spring is here. 

But in that little grieving heart 
No thought of beauty stirred. 

Of budding tree, of opening flower. 
Or joyous, caroling bird. 

"Oh! Mother dear, why did you go 

And leave me here alone? 
I am so lonely and so sad — 
No Mother and no home. 

**I miss your loving, tender smile. 

Your hand upon my head. 
Your fond caress, your good-night kiss 

When I my prayers have said. 

*'They say that we at Easter time 
Should fix our thoughts above 

And think that all the dead shall rise 
To meet the ones they love ; 

"But Oh, dear Mother up in heaven. 

It seems so long to wait. 
Please ask the Lord to take me now 

Straight through the pearly gate. 

"We'd be so happy, you and I, 

In that bright land so fair. 
And no one here would miss me much — 

There'd be no one to care. 

"Please ask him. Mother, and come down 

And whisper in my ear ; 
I'll just lie here and keep quite still. 

So I'll be sure to hear.'* 



Page 133 



Worn out with grief, he fell asleep 

On that pathetic mound. 
The night came on, the air grew chill. 

And hushed was every sound. 

They found him when the morning dawned. 

His face serene with joy; 
For God had reunited them. 

The mother and her boy. 



Page 134 



A THANKSGIVING TOAST. 



Here's to the man who*s glad to see 

TTianksgiving drawing near; 
Whose happy home will be aglow 

With gay Thanksgiving cheer, 
While at his table will be found 

The friends most near and dear. 
Here's to the merry girls and boys. 

Their eyes with joy alight. 
Who'll gather, too, about the feast. 

In unalloyed delight — 
And mother, with her loving face. 

Her cheery smile so bright. 

Here's to the man who's grateful now 

On this Thanksgiving day, 
Because throughout the year that's past 

Success has come his way; 
Who has no worries and no cares. 

No pressing debts to pay. 
Here's to the man who's fought and won 

The things in life worth while; 
Who now can look upon the past 

And wear the victor's smile; 
Who's growing stronger in the race 

With each successive mile. 

And here's to the man who's down and out; 

Who's feeling mighty blue; 
Who somehow seems to make a mess 

Of all he tries to do. 
Cheer up, my friend, who knows what luck 

Next year may bring to you; 
Be thankful that the longest lane 

Must have somewhere a turn ; 
A little farther on may wait 

TTie joys for which you yearn. 
Don't look behind — unless it is 

To watch your bridges bum. 



Page 135 



DEC 23 1913 



TRIBUTE TO THE VETERANS. 



Once more the roll of the drum is heard 

And the sound of marching feet; 
Once more is the Southern flag unfurled 

As our gallant veterans meet. 
To live once again the days gone by. 
When hope was strong and courage high, 
When brave men dared to do and die, 

And sacrifice was sweet. 

Again do they hear the call to arms 

And the shrill of the piercing fife; 
Again do they list to the bugle's blast 

With its summons to deadly strife. 
And memory brings to their minds once more 
The neighing troops and the cannon's roar — 
Or a comrade's parting words before 

He bade farewell to life. 

How bravely they fought for their noble cause. 

The pages of history tell; 
Regardless of danger, of pain or loss, 

Unheeding of shot and shell. 
They forward marched at the sharp command. 
Shoulder to shoulder and hand to hand, 
Firmly, courageously took their stand 

For the South they loved so well. 

Ah, 'tis but a remnant that now remains 

To answer the call of the roll; 
Each swift-fleeting year as it speeds away. 

Exacting a heavier toll; 
Yet ever the joy of the South shall be 
To honor the hosts of the white-souled Lee, 
Whose hearts are as brave and whose spirits as free 

As ever in days of old. 



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